Beast
by JaneApricity
Summary: There is no beast so fearsome as a madman scorned from above; There is no force so pow'rful as hope for impossible love. The longer Belle spends with The Assassin, the more she struggles with balancing trust, forgiveness, and old fashioned common sense. [Based on Rumbelle. Spoilers up to 1x12 (Skin Deep). No smut. Some archaic cursing.]
1. Chapter 1

"It will never work," my father muttered. His face was in one hand, elbow propping him up on the table as though it were the only support he had left.

"It will work," Prince Gaston insisted. "The Assassin has never once failed his employer."

"His employers are usually drowning in gold," I snapped. If the situation were a normal one, I would have most likely been reprimanded with a silent look by my father for speaking so coldly to the prince.

"Your kingdom _will_ be as soon as we're married," Gaston pressed.

"Oh, and you plan on having the week long ceremony done in the two days it will take for Desparkin's army to reach the castle?"

"I can just give it to you, then, Belle," said Gaston. "Never mind the ceremony for now."

"Even once we pay him, my Prince," said my father, setting his crown down on the table beside him. "Who is to say the rumors are true? Too shady, this Assassin."

"Death by enemy armies or death by Assassin. Are those your only two choices?" Prince Gaston asked, staring the king in the face.

"You should run, my boy," said the my father wearily. "Your kingdom will be safe. Mine is doomed. Take Belle and flee."

"No!" I cried. I would never be a hero like my father's knights or the demigods in legends of old, but neither would I be a coward and leave my father and kingdom to the mercy of Desparkin's men.

"No," Gaston echoed. "I intend to see the Assassin pull through and save your kingdom."

"Then at the very least, one of my knights will take Belle to safety before he arrives."

Before I could respond that I would do no such thing, a voice from above answered for me.

"Bit late for that."

There was a soft thump of boots hitting flagstones as a hooded figure dropped from the rafters. To either side of us, the few knights we had light darted forward, weapons at the ready. Gaston held out a hand, and they froze.

"How long have you been here?" Prince Gaston demanded.

"Long enough to know you don't trust me," said the Assassin, only a grin visible beneath the hood. "Disappointing, but smart."

"Then you know that I'm your employer," said Gaston. He stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Actually," said the Assassin, sitting down and propping his boots up on the end of our table. "You're not." He picked up an apple, tossed it in the air, then took a bite.

"Of course I am," said Gaston. "I'm paying you."

"No," said the Assassin, swallowing his bite of fruit. "You're not. It's not your kingdom I'm fighting for."

"It will be in a week's time," said Gaston, gritting his teeth.

"I'm not into future investments," the Assassin said casually. "I'm saving King Maurice's kingdom, and he'll pay the price."

"What is your fee?" asked my father quietly before Gaston could argue back.

"I need a serving girl," the Assassin suggested.

" _No_."

All eyes turned towards me.

"I run the domestic affairs of the castle, I know those girls. You can't just take one to do as you wish." Images flew unbidden into my mind of just what this man might have in store for them.

"Belle, one serving wench isn't worth the price of an entire kingdom destroyed," said Gaston, gloved hand taking my wrist. I wrenched my arm out of his hand.

"I can't let one of those poor girls pay for our ineptitude in dealing with Desparkin!"

The Assassin looked out of one of the stained glass windows, as though he could see right through it. "Well, there goes the great kingdom of Tearian. But a serving girl is spared! Till Desparkin gets here, 'course."

My mind froze on a fantasy I'd entertained as a child. A daydream, starring me as the brave and noble princess, swording the enemy that dared make an attempt on her father's life. But now his entire kingdom would die, and I couldn't save it.

Except that I could.

"I can't let you take one of those girls," I repeated. _Don't let your hands or voice shake_ , I chided myself. Smooth, smooth and hard as a porcelain cup. "But you can take me."

My father stood up so quickly his crown clattered to the flagstones. Startled, Gaston drew his sword. The Royal Adviser, dear Peter, was frozen in horror. Our knights clenched their weapons more tightly, all on edge and ready to pounce.

The Assassin was very, very still.

"Belle will do no such thing," Gaston said, voice strangled.

"Belle, no," my father whispered.

"I know my name, thank you," I said. Smooth, hardened.

Fragile.

"You will sacrifice yourself for a serving girl?" asked the hooded man.

"For all the people of this kingdom," I corrected.

 _Would he actually sacrifice me_ , my irrational mind asked. In the terrifying moment, anything seemed possible.

"She will _not_ -" started my father.

"She will." The Assassin stood up. "The fee is payed, you will be spared, the princess is mine," he said. "We all win."

 _If facial expressions are anything to judge by, Gaston doesn't think he's won_ , I thought in shock. What had just happened? I had just given myself away. Not as a wife, but as no more than a slave. To a man so shrouded in myth and legend that, until tonight, I hadn't truly believed in his existence.

"What will you do with her?" my father was quietly.

"I told you. I need a serving girl. My own home's a mess."

My father looked at me helplessly, as though silently begging me to change my mind.

"Give us the week," Gaston begged.

"I'll give you... eh, twenty seconds."

Gaston began to argue again, but feel silent when the Assassin casually pulled out a knife.

"I may never see you again," my father said in a broken voice, tears spilling out of his eyes.

"I love you," I said, knowing I hadn't seconds to waste on any other words. My own voice was cracking. I placed my trembling lips on his tear-streaked cheek.

"Twenty seconds up!"

I pulled away, brushed past Gaston and the knights, and stepped through the doors of the great hall. My mind still hadn't truly comprehended what I had done.

Behind me, I heard the Assassin say, "-brave girl. You should be proud. Saved a whole kingdom! Maybe an annual parade in her honor or something. I love a parade."

"You're a beast," my father hissed.

"Oh, you have no idea," said the Assassin. Following the enigmatic statement was a chorus of gasps and shrieks.

My father cried out, " _Belle, no! You cannot go with him!_ "

The door shut. There were footsteps. Then the Assassin beside me, rearranging his hood.

"What did you do?" I asked. You could hear the tears straining my voice. "Did you kill someone?"

"Let's just say I showed them the monster I am," said the Assassin in a dark voice I had not yet heard from him.

"You _will_ keep your word," I pressed, trying to make my voice equally dark. I stared straight ahead, not daring to move lest I break into tears.

"I'm a creature of honesty, Princess Belle. But I don't advise looking for any other chivalrous qualities." He started straight ahead as well for several moments before beginning to walk.

"Where are we going?" I took my skirts in hand, walking after.

"No more questions for now," the Assassin called over his shoulder.

I felt rather like I was walking through a tunnel. Everything I knew and loved was behind me, but I could only walk forward. I could only see the end, only think of this precise step and nothing more. No grief, no anger, not even fear. Only following the beast that was now my master.

The Assassin did not talk during our walk. He did not speak again for several hours. I don't know how far we walked; it was, however, a considerable distance. Had I been myself, I'm sure I would have despised every wretched step. But I was in shock, or some similar state. The hours long trek had been but a sliver of my existence.

The Assassin stopped in front of a massive iron-wrought gate. Each spoke must have been at least three centimeters in diameter, interwoven with what would have been a gorgeous pattern of vines were it not overgrown with it's real life counterpart and a myriad of spider's webs.

The Assassin's sudden stop jolted me from my trance. He unlocked the rusted gate and pushed it open. I winced at the piercing squeal of the hinges; if the lack of movement had not awoken me, the sound surely would have.

"I trust it's now obvious why I need a serving girl. The rest of the castle is in a similar state," he said.

A castle it was. A bulky fortress that put my father's delicate palace to shame. If the stone fortress were not intimidating enough in sheer fortitude, the spiked iron flour-de-lis and gruesome gargoyles would be fearsome enough to ward off unwanted intruders.

I stepped through the gate, looking quickly at the ground after realizing I had been gawking like a country bumpkin in the city. The Assassin shut the gate behind me, then led the way to the massive front doors. I meekly followed. My mind snatched onto the idea of having to clean the behemoth of a castle.

The Assassin threw open the front doors and turned to face me, arms still spread wide.

"Your new home."

"For forever," I said, voice small.

"Follow me to your room." He scooped up a set of rusted skeleton keys and walked out of the entrance hall to a stair-case.

I followed, my slippers clicking on the flagstones as he led me down into the castle's bowls till we enough stories under the earth that I knew this would be no normal room.

"You're jesting," I protested. "The dungeon?"

"Consider it a secure sleeping area," he suggested.

"You're jesting," I said again.

"Are you suddenly finding your kingdom no longer worth this?" asked the Assassin softly, dangerously.

I went into the cell.

"And so, the princess holds out!" he said with a grin. "I'm off to save her people. Rest well. You'll need the beauty sleep... you'll be working hard tomorrow."

 **Hello, my beauties!**

 **This story is a bit weird. It's heavily inspired by Skin Deep from Once Upon A Time, so if you've watched the show you might see little easter eggs here and there that remind you of it. But if you haven't, then there's nothing that you won't understand.**

 **An explanation concerning The Assassin- I know that's a bit different than the usual Beasts you see. In OUaT it was Rumplestiltskin, and otherwise he's usually just called The Beast or Prince Adam. But I love Assassin's Creed, and I thought that since people tend to think of them as being monstrous, it works as an allegory. So bear with me on that one. (Pun not intended.)**

 **If you simply adore my writing style, feel free to check out my other accounts on Wattpad! These would be** **JaneApricity** **, MadMansGuardian,** **LUOAsylumees** **, and** **Inkbloods** **. (The last two being joint accounts I tend to write on.)**

 **Please vote and comment your opinions, ideas, or rants!**

 **-J.A.**


	2. Chapter 2

The cell was cold. I don't know why that surprised me; of course it was cold. There was no fireplace, no magical spell for warmth, no comfortable bed and blanket. Just a stone floor, stone walls, and a frigid window.

Two things kept me warm. The thought that my father and all his kingdom would sleep safely tonight, and hatred for their savior.

I fell asleep at some point. My body was exhausted from the walk, and my spirit from keeping grief at bay. I wish that I had cried out all my pain before I'd fallen asleep; instead, the pain waited till the next morning.

CLANK. The door to my cell hit the wall, showing the Assassin. His form was visible in the cool morning light, but his face still hidden under the hood.

"Good morning! Enough beauty sleep?"

I realized it was _not_ my maid waking me up. It would not be my father having breakfast with me, it would not be Gaston fretting over the Desparkin army, and it would not be Peter the royal adviser telling me the day's duties. There would be only this beast before me.

A strangled noise escaped my throat, and tears began to well up.

"Apparently not," said the Assassin. "Well, when you're done with that, you can get dressed. Your gown is lovely, but not terribly suitable for cleaning, eh?"

He turned with a swish of his cloak, leaving me to mys obs.

I don't know if I wept out of fear for myself, or sadness over losing everything I had known, or if it was a helping of both. But sometimes tears simply demand the world be put on hold. I recall suspecting, as it wore away, that even the Assassin had to know this.

When I had regained my composure, I felt less burdened, save for the dull headache that always accompanied crying. I missed my father, of course. But what was I leaving behind besides him? An arranged marriage and unfulfilled dreams of being a hero? This new life as a servant of the Assassin was far from ideal. But it was worth it to save the kingdom. It was worth it to be the hero.

And if the kingdom was worth marrying Prince Gaston in the first place, it was certainly worth giving him up.

I pulled off my yellow gown soiled by a night in the dungeon and put on the simple blue dress the Assassin had provided. I tied on a white apron, pulled back my hair, and replaced my slippers.

I found the Assassin sitting in what appeared to be a dining hall. For it's monstrous appearance, the inside of the castle wasn't as unmanageable as it seemed at first blush. It would still take considerable time to clean, but there were no more than five and twenty rooms, counting my own 'secure sleeping area'. Several rooms were secured with padlocks, I had noticed.

"Ah, good morning princess," said the Assassin, though his back was turned to me and I had not stepped loudly.

"I'm no princess anymore," I said. There was a self-conscious flutter in the pit of my stomach. I was no princess; I was the servant of a man so dangerous he was only a half-believed legend.

"A fair point," he said. "I'll have to find a new nickname for you."

"My name is Belle," I said, a little more boldly than I should have.

"So I gathered. Well, 'Belle', would you serve the tea?"

I had never served Tea in my life. I walked forward, clenching my hands behind my skirt. "Yes, sir." The words of servitude seemed to choke in my throat. "But what should I call you?" I put my shaking hand to the smooth, cool handle of the teapot, forcing it to be still.

"Perhaps you should call me unlucky, since I seem to have collected a serving girl incapable of making the tea before attempting to pour it," said the Assassin.

My cheeks burned as I set down the tea pot. "I'm sorry, sir. I was unaware."

"I find nobles do tend to think things like tea come out of thin air. So while I can't compliment your wits I can comfort your lack of them by saying you're not the only dimwitted Princess I've met."

I picked up the tray, equally embarrassed at the Assassin's sharp words and the extremely obvious sound of the dishes clattering against one another as my hands shook. I stepped into the kitchen and set the tray down on the first empty bit of counter I could find. I took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my mind.

 _Damn headache,_ I thought. _Damn pride. Damn beast of a man!_

I strode over to the massive fireplace, thanking any god or magical being out there that it was already lit. I could struggle through brewing a cup of tea, but lighting a fire seemed impossible.

I picked up the bucket near the hearth and pushed open a door that lead outdoors.

To my surprise, it was beautiful. While the grounds were unkempt, it had once been a magnificent garden. Past the walls was a forest, and on the other side of the fortress sprawled a mountain vista that glowed in the morning sunlight.

I couldn't figure why the beautiful outdoors shocked me so until I realized that every window in the castle had been hidden from sight. Assuming it had been originally built with them, I figured that the Assassin must have covered them with the thickly embroidered curtains and rich tapestries that lined every wall.

 _Well, no matter how many hoods or curtains you hide behind, you can't mask the monster you are,_ I thought.

I located the well and drew a bucket of water, then lugged it back into the kitchen. It took some searching, but I founds several bags of exotic smelling tea-leaves. a few moments later, I had a steaming pot of tea reader for the beast.

"Has Beauty muddled out the secret of tea-making?" asked the Assassin when I re-entered the room.

"Beauty?" I asked, quite forgetting my place as I raised my eyebrows.

"Well, Brains is hardly a fit name," the Assassin replied mildly.

I sat a cup of tea in front of him, along with the sugar bowl. He added a lump, waited for it to cool, then took a sip.

"Though, perhaps that could change," he commented idly. "No need to hover over my shoulder; the castle awaits a thorough cleaning."

"I thought I might ask a question of you first," I said, burying my self-consciousness. "Sir," I added, a bit rising again.

The Assassin set down his cup. "It seems you'll remain curious. Here's the deal, then. Each day, you may ask me one question. The price of my answer will be an answer from you of any question I have."

"Very well, sir," I said. I put my hands behind my back so he wouldn't see me nervously fiddle with my fingers. "Why not gold? Prince Gaston wa- is very rich. One serving wench might be useful, but is hardly the best investment."

"I have money. I have no need of jewels or armies or anything either of those royal fools could have offered." I started when I realized that one of "those royal fools" was my father. "My question. Why did you decide to come? A serving girl may not be a wise investment, but neither is one difficult to replace."

"It was my chance to be a hero," I said after a moment. "You know, to save the day, rescue the kingdom, spare the life of a damsel in distress." The answer wasn't completely honest. But then, I had the suspicion that neither was his. In truth, I had one split thought of "now may be my only chance to be brave" and before I knew it, I was a slave. If anything, it had been a mistake. Not heroism.

I wasn't capable of that. I wasn't capable of anything more than lusting for adventure from afar.

The Assassin contemplated me for a long moment before taking another sip of the tea. "Fair enough. The castle awaits!"

The beast had not been lying, however, when he had told me that I would need my beauty sleep. The castle was massive, and each room required dusting, sweeping, carpet beating, tapestry and curtain cleaning, reupholstering, polishing, mopping, and more. A staggering task for even the most seasoned of of housemaids.

But to a delicate princess who had done little more than order the maids about, it was enough to send the said princess into near hysteria.

Perhaps as a result of living my life unable to succeed in the dreams I'd imagined, I had always found myself unwilling to fail any real task at hand. Be it saving the kingdom, teaching myself to sew, or marrying a Prince I'd never met, failure was unforgivable. And the price was usually despising my own weak will and harassing myself into a tearful fit.

I was determined that no such failure would happen again. if I could save the kingdom of Tearian, I could clean the lair of a beast.

And so, armed with a plethora of dusters, brooms, mops and buckets of water, I attacked the dining room.

No surface was spared. Mercy was not given to a single corner. It was war, with no prisoners taken. Not so much as a speck of dust was left on a single saucer. Dusting, however, proved to be the simplest of tasks.

Mopping left the bottom of my skirt soaked. Polishing the furniture left me nauseous. Beating the rugs left me exhausted. And with the room as dim as it was, it was hard to tell that I had really made that much of a difference in the first place. I tugged at one of the curtains in frustration, but it didn't so much as flutter.

 _It's like the whole thing is dead_ , I thought.

"Ah, much better in here," said the Assassin. "Not so badly done as one might have feared." He ran a finger along a shelf of china then peered at it. Seemingly satisfied, he sat down.

"Thank you?" I was uncertain as to how I should respond. 'My pleasure' felt a bit dishonest for even us.

"And what will we be having for lunch?" asked the Assassin.

"Lunch, sir?" I stood there dumbly, a needle and some thread in one hand to repair the cushion of a seat.

"The meal commonly eaten in the middle of the day," he responded. "The one that would generally be cooked by, for example, a serving girl."

"I can't cook!" I protested. "I can barely recall which sauce goes on which meat!"

"Well that will make the task rather difficult for you to do and me to enjoy."

"I can muddle out cleaning, sir, but not _cooking_."

"Then I suppose the duty of cooking remains mine." The Assassin stood and made his way to the kitchen.

"You aren't making me do it?" The words flew out of my mouth, sounding shocked.

"What's the point of that? You can't cook. I like good food. And that, as surely even you could see, is a recipe for disaster." He pushed open the kitchen doors and disappeared inside.

 _For a beast, he is certainly a strange one_ , I couldn't help but think.

I resumed the reparation of the cushions. Five seat covers later and the Assassin had returned, this time laden with trays of food. He had an exotic looking sandwiches, full of strange meats and sauces.

"Sit," the Assassin ordered.

"I am... to dine with you?"

"It hardly seems worth preparing this only to have the only other person in the castle eat it in the kitchen at a later time. Sit." He set the tray on the table and resumed his sitting at the head.

I stood and dusted off my skirt, then sat on the newly repaired seat adjacent to his. He passed me the rolled-up sandwich.

"To Beauty's hope for brains," he said, raising his sandwich slightly in the air before taking a bite.

 _To the Beast's hope for humanity_ , I thought, taking a bite of my own.

 **Hello, Puddin's!**

 **I thought I'd say that if you see a typo, please let me know! I usually write my first draft via typewriter, then transfer to the computer. Unfortunately, I have the tendency to overlook typographical errors when re-typing everything. Hazard of the trade. So if you would be so kind as to tell them to, it would be much appreciated!**

 **That little note aside, what do you think so far? Any opinions? Ideas about where this is going? It's early for feels; this is a bit of a slow-burn story, but if you can sense them coming then give this chapter a review!**

 **Love to you all!**

 **-J.A.**


	3. Chapter 3

The following week proceeded more or less like my first day, albeit with fewer tears. I woke up shivering in my little stone cell to the noise of the Assassin unlocking my door. Then I dressed in an outfit identical to the first and went upstairs to make tea. The rest of my day was spent cleaning, only broken up by lunch and dinner with the Assassin.

It had finally occurred to me why he had wanted a serving girl in the stead of gold. The beast was _lonely_. I felt rather dull for having caught on so slowly.

In two week's time, I had completed the initial deep-cleaning of the castle. With only upkeep required, I found myself with free time. It seemed odd that within two weeks, I could have adjusted to not having such a thing that, in my precious life, had composed the majority of my day.

Equally odd was that I was at a loss as to what to do with it. I had entertained the thought of attempting to teach myself the craft of cooking, but without so much as a single recipe in the kitchen, I finally admitted it was a task best left to the Assassin.

For a few days, I took to exploring. I had cleaned all of the castle that wasn't sealed off, but there were still innumerable cabinets, shelves, cupboards, closets, and boxes scattered from the dungeon to the attic.

I started in a comfortable sitting-room of sorts. Between reupholstering cushions, I poked in the various trunks in the room. One was only filled with weapons, which could be an interesting conversation piece. Another had fabrics and sewing supplies which I noted for future use.

One appeared to be like the second, but rather than unused fabric, it was full of clothing. Women's, not unlike my own blue dress, and that of a boy.

 _The Assassin's and his mother's, perhaps,_ I thought. _At least, I assume the beast had a mother._ I made up my mind to ask him at lunch that day.

We had continued our tradition of asking one another one question each. On some days, I was forced to waste my question on the mundane, such as Are your curtains nailed down? They were. Or May I have a blanket tonight? I could.

His questions varied to the point of amusement. Sometimes he asked me about my old life. Other times he simply inquired about the days food. Once or twice, he posed a philosophical question. this day, however, he seemed surprised at my answer.

"You must have read Thelain's work," He commented.

"I have," I replied. "I was once very fond of reading." I always spoke of my old life as though it had been years ago, not just the near-month it had been. "My question. Who do the clothes belong to? The ones in the trunk, in the sitting room."

The Assassin fell very quiet as he ate. Today it was soup, every bit as exotic as the sandwiches we had eaten on my first day. This was my first question about his personal history. Despite our deal, the Assassin was every bit as mysterious as he was when he had been no more than a legend.

"They belong only to me, now," he said.

"Then they belonged to someone before you," I pressed.

"No more questions."

"That wasn't a question," I responded. "I'm still permitted to make statements and guesses. A little brother?"

"A son." The Assassin stood. "Clean up when you're through eating," he commanded. And with that, he left the room.

His answer raised a storm of thought sand more questions. My beast had once been a man. A man who loved, and was loved back. A man with a family.

 _So the beast was not always a beast_ , I thought as I scrubbed out his soup pot. _I wonder if that means the beast before me can be tamed._

It did not seem so impossible as it might once have. There was a human beneath that hood. I had seen him, when he cooked or when I had seen his need for companionship.

It still came as a shock, however. The mythical Assassin, lonely and broken. A man who had lost his family. Who had to rely on trickery to gain human contact.

From that moment on, whenever I saw the man I now call master, I no longer hissed 'You monster' in my head, but rather 'that poor beast'. He was a killer, he was dark, and perhaps even evil. But there were tears behind the blood and a broken heart behind his blade.

Nothing else about my situation had changed with this revelation, however. My new life went on as it ever would, with cleaning and questioning and shivering through the nights.

On the day marking a month of my servitude, the Assassin asked me a question that threw me off guard.

"Why are you smiling?"

I looked up from my mug of water in surprise. "What do you mean sir?"

"You're smiling. An attribute generally found in happy people."

"Then I suppose I'm happy," I said without much thought. Word-play and little banters were no uncommon thing between us, and the reply slipped out without over-analysis.

"As the servant of a man who kills for a living? Snatched from an easy life as princess, stolen away from family and friends, forced to sleep in a dungeon and clean a castle?" The Assassin's face was, as ever, hidden from view. But the way he gripped his cup, the way he leaned on the table towards me, his whole intense manner conjured up an expression of near desperation for my answer.

"Perhaps not happy," I said slowly, giving my answer more thought in response to the deadly seriousness surrounding the Assassin. "But satisfied. And a moment ago, I could have been happy. I was certainly not sad or unwell."

"Then you could be happy here?" asked the Assassin. There was something tentative in his otherwise intense voice. I had heard that voice be dark, carefree, or mocking. But not this.

"I suppose so," I said nervously. Would he change something? Ensure I suffered for the sake of my kingdom?

He was silent for the rest of the meal. When he stood, however, he did not issue his usual command of 'clean up'.

"I will be gone for some time. Continue as you have until I return."

"Are you off to save another kingdom?" I asked. "That will be my question of the day."

"Or perhaps destroying one," he replied.

Before I could comment or dare another question, the Assassin left with a swish of his cloak.

I did continue about my day normally. Nothing in particular struck me until I went into my cell for the night. it occurred to me then that the Assassin was not there to lock me in. Was leaving me unsecured as a sign of trust? Was this a test? Had he simply forgotten? Or did he know that, should I take it up in my mind to escape, that I would likely fail?

 _Well never mind escaping_ , I thought. I couldn't risk my family and friend's safety. _I just don't want to sleep in this drafty cell all night._

I later realized that he could have come home at any time and caught me fast asleep in one of the grand bed-rooms. But at the moment, I was simply enjoying the comforts of a real bed, in a warm room, with thick blankets.

Morning came as it always does, and I continued with laundry and dusting. But the feeling of freedom that not having the Assassin lurking over my shoulders provided, I found myself drawn to the prospect of exploring.

I had put off the activity for the past several days, since the Assassin's strange reaction to his son's clothing. Something in me seemed to be afraid of resuming my search of the castle. But the feeling lifted in my intoxication of freedom, and I soon found myself rifling through boxes and cupboards.

For the most part, there was nothing of interest. There were candlesticks and daggers, ink and parchment, seeds and stones. Most of it appeared to have been from the castle's days as a real castle.

That was what struck me as most interesting. The Assassin had yet to prove that he lived here by any means other than living there. That is, he had no clothing, save that of his wife's and son's, and no books, no letters, no tools, no instruments. Nothing personal. Nothing I could hold up and say, "Ah yes, and this belongs to my beast."

I could only assume those things lay behind the padlocked doors. My temptation to see what was in those rooms was strong. Strong enough to do it, I fancied, if I had a way of getting past the locks.

The Assassin did not return that day, nor the next. But by that day, I had discovered a way of getting through the locks. Perhaps the answer had always been in my mind; the temptation had just not been strong enough to coax it out. But I could recall the Assassin locking my cell door at night. His ring of skeleton keys. And the soft clatter of the keys, moments after he had ascended the stair-case.

 _He's likely brought them with him_ , I scolded. But I found myself searching the entrance hall in any case.

And five minutes later, I was standing in front of a locked door, wondering how likely it was that I would soon find myself assassinated.

It took several tries before I found the key that fit the door. One finally slid in. I twisted and the padlock sprang open. I pushed on the door.

I didn't really know what I had expected to find inside the room. But shelves of china was most certainly not on the list.

"What in the world," I muttered, stepping inside.

Most of the china was the most common pattern, plain white save for a twist of blue glaze. But each piece could have been fashioned out of horse dung and not surprised me more. it wasn't simply that he owned the pieces, but the fact that he locked it away. Did he think I might try and use some pieces to fund my escape? But no, there was plenty else in this castle to sell and live off of.

I stepped further in the room, pulling a tea cup off of one of the shelves. I turned it over in my hands, contemplating the collection.

"Well."

The cup slid from between my fingers, hitting the edge of the shelf before rolling away on the carpet.

"What is my little Beauty up to?" mused the Assassin. He stood in the door-frame, his form intimidating, but voice not dark.

""I- ah," I stammered, unable to look at the Assassin. I searched the floor instead, and spotted the runaway cup half-tucked under a low shelf. "Oh dear," I murmured, bending to pull it out. "It has a chip in it..."

The Assassin was silent. I held it up to show him, biting my lip so hard that I thought I might break the skin.

"I'm so sorry," I said after a moment.

"It's only a cup," he replied. "I'm more concerned with why you were in a very obviously locked up room, with what appears to be a stolen set of keys."

"You always manage to avoid questions about yourself," I said after a moment. "I wanted to know more about you."

"You wanted to know more about me," he repeated.

"Well, I will be caring for you for the next forever," I replied. "I'm never to know anyone else. Can't I at least know you, my b- master?"

I had very nearly called him my beast. Somehow, I thought he would appreciate the name just as much as I appreciated 'beauty'; that is to say, not at all.

The Assassin plucked the chipped cup from my hands. "Very well. I assume you've finished your daily chores? Cleaning, laundering, etc?"

I blinked at him. "You... you aren't mad?"

The Assassin tilted his head. "Should I be?"

Without saying a word, I awkwardly set the ring of skeleton keys on the shelf and exited the room.

 _He didn't kill me,_ I thought. _I'm still alive._ Almost as though I didn't believe it, my fingers rested on my throat. No blood.

But why?


	4. Chapter 4

The Assassin stared at the cup. The triangular chip in the rim gaped back at him.

"She cared," it whispered to him. "She cared enough to be curious."

 _Curious about the man? Or the beast's weaknesses?_ the Assassin asked it. _If I were the beast I'd hide my weaknesses in a locked up room._

"Then it's a good thing Beauty didn't choose the wrong locked up room," growled the beast.

 _Otherwise there would be no Beauty,_ agreed the Assassin.

"Only blood," the beast murmured, fangs digging into the Assassin's mind with each word.

The Assassin set the cup back down on the shelf, slowly exchanging it for the ring of keys. He stepped out of the room and shut the door.

But when he passed belle in a corridor moments later, the chipped cup was nestled in his gloved hand.

"You don't have to go through my things to keep from being bored, you know," said the Assassin.

"Kindness?" sneered the beast. "Throw her back into the cell for her insolence. You don't have to bribe her away from your secrets."

"But she cared," whispered the tea cup.

"What else is there for me to do?" she asked with a laugh that had a tinge of incredulity. Laughter. Laughter was so different to him now. So strange. So... beautiful.

"How can she be happy here?" demanded the beast. "She knows something."

"Yes," answered the cup. "She knows there is a beast under that hood."

"You said you were once very fond of reading," said the Assassin.

"Those were my words exactly," she said, looking up at him with some suspicion.

"I have a very good memory," I responded.

"No," said the beast with a grin. "I do."

"And I also recall," said the Assassin, ignoring the voice. "That this key will open the door next to the tapestry depicting the tale of Rapunzel." The Assassin slid a skeleton key off of the ring.

"And what will that door lead to?" asked Belle.

"Beauty, Beauty, Beauty," said the Assassin, shaking his head. "What of our hope for your brains? We were, if I recall, which I do, discussing books."

"You have a library."

A smirk grew beneath the hood.

"You're... letting me into the library?"

The Assassin set the key on the table. "Only if you trust me to do so," he said mockingly. But for all his quips and teasing, the Assassin was screaming.  
"TRUST ME," cried the cup.

"KILL HER," yelled the beast.

"Save me..." wept the man.


	5. Chapter 5

No one would look at my life in the Assassin's castle and call it perfect. But neither could one say I was living a hell of a life. I worked hard and I dreaded the nights spent in my cold cell. At times, I would recall a certain friend's face, or a kind word from my father, and the realization that I would never again see them would leave me melancholy for the remainder of the day.

But the work was satisfying. I could certainly never say that I didn't eat well. I wanted for nothing, save my friends and family.

I think that missing my past relations is part of what made me determined to bring out the human in the Assassin. I was lonely, starved for human companionship. And while few would accuse the Assassin of humanity, I found myself searching for it in his actions.

"Why do you always keep on your hood?" I asked one lunch as I refilled his tea cup.

"That was a waste of a question, Beauty," said the Assassin. "Why does any lackey of the night hide his face, be he assassin or thief?"

"No," I said after a few moments of silence. "I don't think you're trying to hide from the world."

The Assassin's movements grew careful. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, but guarded his thoughts zealously. Now it was all guarded. "And why does Beauty say that? What other motive could an assassin have?"

"I think you're hiding the world from something."

An eerie silence fell about the castle. It was like there had been voices chattering in the background, white noise, only to heard when they fell silent.

"My question for Beauty is this. Would you like to see what I hide the world from?" His voice was nearly dark, but not quite. I had grown adept at reading him by his voice, since I could gather nothing from his face. But the realization that he was offering me the chance to see the forbidden features was enough to make me not realize until later that he had affirmed my guess concerning his hood.

"What would the thing you're hiding do to me if I'm no longer hidden from it?" I asked.

"Ah, Beauty has found her brains. But I'm afraid you've used up your question of the day.

I lifted my chin, perhaps a little too boldly. "As have you. _And why does Beauty say that?_ " I mimicked.

A smile grew under his hood, a dangerous one. "A question, yes. One that you answered even. But not one directed at you."

A blush warmed my cheeks. _I should have seen that._

Did I want to meet the monster under the hood? A part of me, a large part, was afraid. But another part of me was stricken with curiosity. And possibly... bravery?

"Yes," I said, voice nearly breathless.

The Assassin nodded. Then he resumed eating. I waited dumbly for a few moments, not touching my food.

"I see Beauty isn't using her brains again," said the Assassin in a mocking tone.

Blush deepening, I returned to my meal. I felt a fool for thinking that he would show me. Why would he have any reason to pull back his hood for a serving girl?

The next day I knew what my question would be long before lunch had started. I suddenly found myself unable to forget the idea of what might be beneath that hood.

"Will I be allowed to see?" I asked when lunch time had finally come around.

The Assassin cocked his head.

"What you hide the world from," I added, raising my eyebrows in my own mocking manner.

"My question first," said the assassin. "Why did you answer yes?"

I wanted to argue back, but couldn't. This was the beast's game, and he the master of it's rules.

"Curiosity. Bravery. I want to know what changed you from the man you once were."

"What made me into the monster I am." His teeth flashed in a smile. I was startled at his use of the nickname I had for him.

 _I care enough to be curious about him._ I heard the words in my mind, as though they were a passing thought. But as the silence drew out, I realized it was not my own thought. And yet, it felt so much as though it were.

"You will see," the Assassin finally answered.

"I don't suppose that you're willing to tell me when," i said in a half-mutter as I put my tea-cup to my lips.

He only smiled.

The rest of the week, I spent my questions trying to whittle down when I could see under the hood to a specific time. But the Assassin was maddeningly elusive as ever, and I drew no nearer to a satisfying answer.

But I had something even stranger than the beast's hood to occupy my mind. When I had suggested that the Assassin was hiding the world from something, a strange silence had fallen in the air. But now rather than simply hearing it's silence, I could swear I could hear the noise that had vanished in the first place.

I only heard it when I found myself drifting off or daydreaming. It was like a chorus of voices, chattering in the background. I thought that, perhaps, my unbidden thought concerning my curiosity of the Assassin had come from one of these voices.

The possibly non-existent voices remained a chorus, never becoming individual enough to make out words. It was quiet enough, rare enough and anonymous enough that I hadn't questioned my sanity.

Until the teacup spoke, at least.

 _The beast sleeps for you. He begins to accept._ The voice, barely a whisper in my mind, came distinctly from the same tea-cup I had chipped nearly a week ago. I was so startled that I ver nearly dropped it again.

"Something wrong, Beauty?" asked the Assassin, tilting his head at me. I set the cup on the table, then picked it back up again. I twisted it in my fingers, frowning.

"This cup. It's chipped. Uh, the one I chipped."

The Assassin only faced me for a moment. "Your point?"

"Why use it? It's chipped."

"How observant of you," he said dryly. "I happen to like to rotate the china, and it was time for this set. I presume that was your question of the day."

I set the cup back down and filled it with tea. "I suppose it was," I said regretfully.

The Assassin went on to ask me some ridiculous question concerning whether or not I snored. But I was only half-listening; my other ear was trained on the cup.

But the voices never presented themselves so flagrantly again, and in time they faded again to a hardly-noticed white noise.

Time slipped by. Each day presented the same checklist of chores, with a free hour or two spent in the precious library I had a key to. I kept no real track of time until one day, when I was outside to fetch the water, I found the world covered in snow. Suddenly, the colder and colder nights clicked into place.

I came into the dining room with the tray of tea. As I poured some into the beast's chipped cup, a thought occurred to me.

"I wonder what the date is," i said. I had grown careful not to throw about haphazard questions. If I were lucky, and the Assassin was in a good mood, he would oblige to giving me the required information.

"I believe it is the seventeenth of December," he said, not looking up from a letter in his gloved hands. "And why was Beauty wondering that?"

I rarely dared to not answer his wondering.

"It's snowing," I replied. "It nearly always snowed on the days leading up to my birthday in Tearian."

"We're technically in Tearian," said the Assassin. "And so the tradition continues. I'll have to bake a cake in four days."

"How did you know my birthday is in four days?" I asked suspiciously, forgetting my caution concerning questions.

"It seems Gaston liked the idea of having a parade to celebrate your birthday. Someone asked me to assassinate him during it."

I nearly spat out my tea.

"Are you going to?"

"Ah, ah. One question a day."

"I wonder," I said, biting back an angry sigh. "If the Assassin might permit Belle to look at his letter."

The piece of paper was slid beneath my saucer.

Assassin,

I request that you assassinate Prince Gaston at the Princess' Parade on the twenty first of December. Price to be discussed on consultation.

Sincerely yours,

Queen Snow

"It doesn't surprise me much that she would want him dead," I commented, setting down the letter. "Our kingdom isn't the first he's tried to take control of. And the White Kingdom was less compliant than my father's."

The Assassin appeared interested. "Is that so?"

"We were desperate. My father was willing to do anything to save our kingdom from imploding, including marrying me to Prince Gaston."

"Save give you up to me."

I could remember my father screaming at me not to go, and the way Assassin had been adjusting his hood when he joined me outside the great hall doors.

"Some people's beasts are better hidden than others," I answered.

The Assassin was very silent.

"You dislike Gaston, then?" he asked after a moment.

"Very much," I replied. "Although my family is indebted to him for several reasons."

"Then you shouldn't care too much if I killed him."

"Of course I would!" I cried. "He's a greedy lout, but that shouldn't mean a death sentence!"

"And what would? Perhaps, say, killing an entire army? Kidnapping a princess? Assassinating a prince?"

A few months ago, I would have answered yes without a second thought. Such a man was worthless. But now the man had a name. He had a face, even if I hadn't been permitted to see it. He had habits, quirks, kind moments, a family.

And for an inexplicable reason, the idea of that man dying felt... odd. Perhaps it was simply because the entirety of my life had become centered around the beast that the idea of him simply ceasing to exist in my world seemed a strange idea.

"You've already used your question of the day," I reminded him, thinking of his question concerning my dislike of Gaston.

The voices were silent as breakfast was resumed.


	6. Chapter 6

"She didn't say yes," cheered the cup.

"She didn't leap to your defense," said the beast.

"She cares," chimed in all the voices in the background. "She cares she cares she cares."

The Assassin wanted her to care. He _needed_ her to care. Not just about the beast's effect on her own safety, but about him. The one trapped with it. The one that had become it. The man.

"There is a man left," said the cup. "She wants to find him. You just have to show her."

"If you show her the man, you show her me," growled the beast. "And she will fear you, and I will smell her fear, and we will _watch her bleed_."

The Assassin had no escape from the voices. He hadn't had an escape for centuries. They prattled ever on, waking or sleeping, content or in a fury.

This definitely wasn't how he had imagined insanity.

It was conflicting opinions. constant ideas, the never-ending orders from the beast. Not so different from the mind of another man, save that these imposing thoughts were voices, whispering and railing and screaming like any real voice.

They were never completely silent. They grew quiet at times. When the beast gained control, for one. It grew tempting at times to slip under his command simply for the silence.

They also grew silent when Belle spoke. All save that chipped cup. But the cup told him nice things. Hopeful things. Things not controlled by the beast. The Assassin liked that cup.

One night, the Assassin found the princess curled up on a rug in the library, her face buried in a book.

"She's beautiful," murmured a voice. The Assassin decided it belonged to a bookshelf.

 _She is?_ he mused. he wouldn't know; he'd lost his taste for women. Even if he looked at her face, which he most certainly didn't, he wasn't sure if he would notice her beauty anymore.

"And what story has Beauty found tonight?" asked the Assassin.

" _Poetry!_ " screamed a voice, eager to answer his question. They were always so damn eager. He hated questions. The voices got so loud. More and more chimed in as Belle jumped, startled at the Assassin's voice.

"It's not so much a story as poetry," she said. Her voice rang out in the stone room, the others dying to a low murmur. Then they grew loud again as the echo of her words died away.

"Read to me," he commanded, desperate for her voice. For some escape.

"What?" The girl shifted, looking at him with wide, blue eyes. He couldn't see it, but the voices made certain he knew her every move, her every feature. Who needed eyes with a hundred voices all drilling every bit of information into your skull? The Assassin had no need to show the beast the world around him.

The only advantage of his voices.

"Wrong answer, Beauty," he said.

"She's frightened confused beautiful high cheekbones hair following over her shoulder brown curls looks down at the book mouth opens heart poundi-"

The voices stopped as she began.

And the Assassin smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

"Only some wings to chase after my love,

I begged of the wise old elf,

To come down from your kingdom, the sky above,

and save my love from himself."

I looked up at the still Assassin.

"Keep reading," he commanded.

"But that's the end," I explained.

"Doesn't she have to keep The Red One from finishing the spell?" he asked.

"Well... the author never says if she succeeds. The poem is about her wanting to save him from his own magic, not the story line itself."

"Can't say I'm fond of poetry then," said the Assassin. "Read another."

"Poem?" I asked.

"Anything."

"Isn't it nearly time you lock me up in my cell to shiver the night away?" I asked.

"I suppose it is cold down there," he said, disregarding either of our original points. "Another poem. Now."

I certainly didn't understand the beast's sudden interest in my reading aloud to him, but far be it from me to argue. I turned the page and began another poem.

"Each man, like a glade, has secrets with'hid,

Withdrawn, within, from passerby..."

The night stretched on until I found my eyelids dropping. Both they and my book felt unfairly heavy. I don't know how the assassin knew, unless something in my voice gave it away; I certainly wasn't going to press my luck by arguing with him.

Mid-poem, he stood up abruptly.

"That will be all. And then he lead me to my cell and locked me in.

And so we gained another tradition. Each night, when all my duties had been completed, we sat in the library and I read to him. While he seemed to almost dread the exchange of questions at lunch, he seemed nearly eager for our nightly reading.

I was eager for something else.

"Will you allow me to see under your hood today?" I asked a lunch.

"Why ever would you want to do a thing like that?" mused the Assassin.

"Perhaps I want to see if your monster can be tamed," I suggested mildly.

Silence.

Not a hint or a whisper of voices.

Then I saw his hand, ever hidden beneath a glove, very tightly gripping the chipped teacup.

And I grew very, very afraid.

"You think _this_ can be tamed?" he asked in a dark, _snarling_ voice. He ripped back his hood.

His face was that of a man's halfway up. Then it sprouted fur, like a man's beard in reverse. His nose bunched into a scowling snout, and his ears were long, pinned back with anger. But all that could be overlooked were it not for his eyes.

They were insane. Mad, glowing, waxing and waning pupils as they focused and unfocused in a demented frenzy.

I had been prepared to see any horror and react as though it were nothing. But this shocked me.

Just as quickly as he had pushed the hood off, he flipped it back up.

"Dungeon," he snarled. "Now."

 _He thinks I'm scared_ , I thought. But strangely, I wasn't filled with fear. I had been shocked at what he'd kept hidden, yes. But somehow, I had been more afraid of not knowing what was there.

"Why?" I asked in a tone that mimicked his own mocking voice. "Do you think you've made me lose my appetite?"

"Don't play games," he growled. "I know what you saw. I know what I saw in your face. I saw your face. _Go_."

"No," I replied. I took a sip of tea.

"Go, or I will rip off your skin and use it as a hearth rug," he screamed.

"I'll admit, you could use a shave, but it really isn't worth all that fuss with the hoo-"

My nonchalant answer was cut short as he grabbed me, his massive gloved hands encircling my arms. _How have I never noticed how large they are?_ The finger tips were shredded away, claws poking through like a cat who's had a fright.

"Let go!" I commanded.

"I give the orders."

He dragged me into the entrance room, then hurled me down the stair-case. I slammed into the wall at the first landing and knew there would be a bruise along my shoulder by morning.

" _Your cell_."

And he spun away in a whirl of robes.

I couldn't understand why he cast me out so angrily. Did he simply grow tired of my constant questioning about the hood? Did the idea of me taming his 'monster' enrage him so?

 _Or maybe he's simply a beast, and he doesn't need a reason for acting like a monster_ , I thought. But no, there was still a man there.

Unable to puzzle it out, I curled up in my frigid cell to sleep.

The next morning, the Assassin wasn't in the castle. In and of itself, this was nothing. My beast was often away on his little missions. But after yesterday, any chance from a perfectly normal routine felt ominous.

I felt as though any misdoing on my part might send him into another rage, so I worked as diligently as ever, even though my shoulder protested furiously.

When another day went by without him, the scenarios became more elaborate. Him killing a noble then beings slaughtered by guards. Villagers with pitch-forks. The bloodshed in my imagination grew until a blizzardy day, when the castle's front door was thrown open, sending a flurry of snow all over the freshly mopped floor.

"You're back!" I said suddenly. _What servant sounds that eager about her master's return?_ "You made a mess, and you haven't been home thirty seconds," I said more scoldingly. My heart was in my throat as I awaited his reaction. Angry? Calm? Short-tempered?

But it was just tired.

"Home," he repeated, shutting the door behind him.

 **Hello, beta-readers! Shorter chapter today... not even a 1k! I have a question for you. Should our dear beast actually look beastly in appearance, or should the only sign of it be in his eyes? Thank you for your help!**

 **-J.A.**


	8. Chapter 8

The voices were silent when I read. It was now impossible for me to pretend they didn't exist, even if I only realized their presence when they were gone.

I felt at a bit of a loss without them, somehow. It was always disconcerting, and I felt as though I had lost a sixth sense. Perhaps it was because without them, I found it harder to imagine the Assassin's manner and expressions.

But from what I _could_ tell, the Assassin seemed more at peace. His motions were less intense, more loose and unguarded. It was as though some burden slipped of his back while I read.

For sometime, I was content to think that it was the wonders of reading that set the Assassin at peace. But I realized things were not so simple as that. It wasn't the words themselves; it was the silence.

The theory came to me one night in the midst of a rather dull essay by the scholar Gardosky. I had, of course, spent my question of the day. So I had to test my theory.

"But if a man were the sort to have an extroverted sensory function, he must then rely on the information gathered not in the present, but in the past. Thus, these men generally rely on past experiences to pave their future choices, resulting in a very routine and even predictable lifestyle," I read.

I lifted my eyes from the passage to watch the Assassin. "One such man might be my beast, who prefers daily routine to new experiences, perhaps because depriving that monster inside of current sensory information allows you to better keep him at bay. You have not reacted to my suddenly speaking directly of you, which implies that either you prefer to string me along, or you are more interested in the lack of voices than what my own is conveying."

There was no reaction from my beast.

I continued reading Gardosky's theory of thought processes in the human mind. The Assassin mentioned nothing over the course of the next few days, though I did it several more times.

At lunch one day, I finally dared to pose the question.

"Why do the voices fall silent whenever I read to you? They even go a bit quiet when I talk, although I could swear they get louder after I've asked a que-"

"You hear them," the Assassin interrupted.

"They go silent because I hear them?" I asked, mistaking his statement for an answer to my own question.

"You can hear the voices." It was almost in shock, but with a raw edge to it. Desperation? Fear? Tentative hope?

"Sort of," I said. "I can't make out much of what they say, but they're always there, simmering in the air. I think... I think they help me see better. I can make out your mood, or even where you are in the castle. I feel a little disoriented when they go silent. But I thought that perhaps they're louder to you, and that's why you like me to read, but you never really listen. I suppose they could get a bit maddening after a while."

"A bit maddening," he repeated, voice nothing but raw now. "A bit maddening? Would you call me a _bit mad_?"

"Well..." I said, eyes watching his clenched jawline carefully. "JUst a bit."

"I'm not a _bit mad_ ," he said. Then I saw something impossible. A tear streaking down his cheek, tracing his jaw, hanging from his chin. "I, dear Beauty, am completely, utterly, stark raving _insane_. I have a hundred, a _thousand_ voices telling me every movement in this castle. The weather, the colors, the shadows, the lights, the actions, the expressions, the movements, the time, _everything_. But the loudest scream of all, Beauty? The one that is impossible to ignore, the one that has my mind in a death grip is the very beast that changed me into the _monster_ that you see before you."

I stared at him, my mouth slack and stomach wrenching in pity. My chest was constricted. Tears spilled out of my eyes, splashing onto the table beneath me.

"Oh..." slipped from my lips. "Oh, my poor, poor beast."

"What?" whispered his voice. That voice with so many emotions, the one expression he had left, the one way he saw the world and the one way it saw him.

"I- I'm sorry," I said, voice thick with tears. "I just... I'm sorry. I knew your life was difficult. You've lost a family, a part of your humanity. But to have all those voices, to be so afraid of what's in you that you can't even let it see the world... oh, no wonder you were so starved for a companion!"

"Are you... are you crying?" asked the Assassin, disbelief apparent.

"She cares," came a nearly scolding voice from the chipped cup.

"Oh, shut up you," I scolded back. "Hasn't he got enough without you butting in needlessly? Of course I care!" And I did. How could one not? The pitiful beast sat before me, shrouded in hoods and rumors and mysteries. But he had been laid bare before me, and the unguarded truth was nothing short of tragic.

As though it had a life of it's own, my hand laid itself on top of his ever-gloved claws. He was perfectly still.

"He's afraid he might break it he needs you care for him you care she cares free us KILL HER she cares he needs you don't move."

The voices were so loud. I could make out their words now, but it was like someone dumping a library in my head all at once. Nearly any information concerning my surroundings was available to me, but I couldn't pick through the sheer wave of voices to find what I wanted. And that one raging, bloody voice was so loud. So so loud.

The Assassin gently removed his hand from under mine.

"You do not need to hear that," he told me.

"Oh, my poor, poor beast," I murmured.

We moved on much as though nothing had happened. I cleaned, he cooked, we woke and we slept. And yet my entire world had changed. I had found my beast's humanity, but I could not save it. I saw his pain, his struggle every day, but I could do so little to ease it.

I spoke and read often. I asked no questions. But I think he understood my intent nevertheless.

"You care," he said one day, as I was washing a window.

"I care for you daily," I quipped, gesturing to my window-washing. "But yes, I do. How could one not?" I winced as the voices suddenly grew louder at the question. I couldn't make out the words without touching the Assassin, but I was more in tune with their presence.

"How?" he asked. "How could anyone care for a beast?"

"Because you're my beast," I said, substituting a proper answer with a sentimental statement.

"I ruined your lives. So many lives. So many deaths."

"The monster inside you made you do those things," I responded.

"He helped," said the Assassin. "My choice. A little blood to keep the frenzy at bay, a little violence to sate his hunger, a little murder to keep his thirst quenched."

"You say those things like I don't know," I said. "But your very name is Assassin, and I came with yous o that you would kill for my family's sake. That death makes up your past is far from unknown to me."

"Children," he mumbled. "I never let him take children." He disappeared through the door, face ashen.

The Assassin's emotions were not always unguarded, however, even now. He still preferred hiding, perhaps out of habit. I was not so determined to force him out now. I didn't need him to play by my rules or to fit my standards, to meet a certain expectation of humanity. The only thing I needed from my beast was for him to accept my offering of caring.

Perhaps, even, of love.

It seemed impossible when I had first arrived. I despised the Assassin, and thus anything to do with him. But perhaps, the idea was not so far-fetched. Human being are created to love, and to be loved. And if he was the only human available to me, should I not love him?

But I think he was afraid of it. He had been unloved for so long. Whether it was the beast repelling the idea or the Assassin afraid of accepting it, I wasn't certain.

Or perhaps, I thought. He doesn't want my love, pure and simple. I am his serving girl. His brainless, penniless, spineless serving girl. His mockery concerning my lack of proper wits or attractiveness were clues enough towards his opinion of me.

And so, in short, I didn't really know what to make of the situation. Nothing had changed, and yet my entire world had shifted in the same moment.


	9. Chapter 9

"She cares."

This time it was not the chipped cup, but the Assassin.

"She cried for me. She tries to help me, in all the little ways. She loves me."

The voice, once so dark and strong and dripped with blood now only shook with a hesitant hope.

Hope. Fragile as a rose. And as barbed with pain.

"She pities you. She has forgotten the beast. And when I tear out her heart, she will see her life spill to the floor, and any so-called love will spill away with it forever," growled the beast.

"She loves him she cares she cried she's cleaning now she's cooking she cares she cried she loves you chipped cup she cares."

The Assassin needed her to care. It was his raft in an ocean of insanity, his bridge to a better life. He needed her love like a drowning man needs air and her touch like a starving man needs food.

She had only touched him the once. His burden had fallen away, and his mind was so perfectly clear for those few moments. Like her voice, but so much more pure. He had not dared touch her again; his burden only went to her. And death was a better fate than that. He would, and had, killed sooner than cursed another with the voices.

"You love her?" The chipped cup sat in his hand, voice loud in his mind.

"She loves me," he whispered.

"And you love her?" pressed the cup.

"The voices don't ask questions," he mumbled, frowning. His mind was worse today. Things were slow, hazy. The voices were _so_ loud.

So loud.

"Love her love you kill her timid walking corridor _kill_ _her_ behind you small smile heart race three weapons artery _ki_ -"

"You didn't eat lunch today," said Belle's voice. So beautiful, bringing him blessed silence. Today it was laced with curiosity nervousness disappointment fear irritation _kill_ _her_.

"I cooked some fore you," she said. She's biting her lip she wants to touch you she wants you to turn around and look at her _rip her apart_. "In case you weren't feeling up to it today."

She had cooked for him. For her master, simply because. For the sake of her own hunger as well, he was certain. But that didn't change the fact that she wanted to help him, even when he had been so distracted by his own monstrosity to even do the one decent thing he did do for her.

She's so beautiful.

It poured out of her. Her words, her actions, her _soul_ , such a blazing beauty that the voices fled when her own was present.

He spun, hands clutching her arms.

"Fear in her eyes breath in her throat stiff muscle slice the artery distracted blush _KILLHERNOW_."

"You're beautiful," he whispered. He couldn't' hear his own voice among the others. They had drowned out every part of him. But they told him of her reaction, and he watched it in his mind's eye. Confusion. A blush. A little sliver of happiness. A bit of fear at the wave of voices now pounding against her mind. He reveled in every moment of it.

"She loves you. I love her. She's beautiful. You need her. She cares for you." His own voice, the one always lost to the sea of madness, now rang in harmony with the others. All save one.

" _Kill_ _her_."

He turned away from his Beauty, lest he lose her to the Beast.


	10. Chapter 10

I watched the Assassin walk away from me, my breath still frozen in my throat and ears still ringing with the echoes of all his voices. One voice took far longer to leave than the others.

Beautiful. But he had only seen me once! It was such a useless, frivolous thing to occupy my mind, yet occupy it did. I thought of fit during the rest of my day, and it was one of the earliest thoughts of the following.

It was a jesting name. A courting name. A comfortable name from my father, a polite name from a duty-bound Prince.

It was not a title, bestowed by a man half out of his mind yet so completely burdened with truth. Every truth around him assaulted his mind. Why would this one, on I half-believed to be a lie, be the one so emotionally told to me?

He had said the words as though he were on his deathbed. As though they were the most important words in the world to him at that moment.

I was not terribly surprised that I was important to him. It was evident that I was helpful in keeping the voices at bay. That my touch could lessen the load even more.

But if that was the only reason behind my importance, why not touch me all the time? Force me to take his burden? Not that force was necessary; I found that I would be quite willing.

So why did he not touch me?

I finally came to the impossible conclusion. The only conclusion He cared about me. Just as that chipped cup loved to say I cared for him. Just as his voice, ringing will all the others, had said to me.

At first, I only saw the self-centered side of this. No one had cared for me before, save my father and dear Peter. And of course my late mother. But to Gaston I was an investment, to my people the production of a future king, and to my friends a pawn.

My beast needed me more than anyone ever had. But he refused to. Not even my father had refused to use me when it was the only option.

The realization caused my eyes to mist over. Now, more than ever, I was determined to help my beast. To cure him, to save him, to protect him from the monster beneath his hood. Because he, even as a beast, had been determined to protect me like no one ever had.

I read and talked constantly. I had never been able to do that before. Peter would tell me it wasn't lady-like, or alternatively, that he was exhausted of my voice. But compared to hundreds being trapped in your mind, a single one seemed a small price to pay.

"I can hear the chipped cup, actually. It's the voice that i can make out without touching you. It says more pleasant things than the others, wouldn't you say? Although sometimes I could swear I hear that mirror in the blue bedroom snickering rude comments when I walk past. It does say the rudest things about my face and figure," I said jokingly.

I had never dreamt that one day I would be joking to a man about my figure, but I felt no apprehension in making such jests to the Assassin. I had seen the worst parts of him, and he had only ever known me at my most piteous state; what was the point in being ashamed of anything anymore?

"You shouldn't' listen to the mirrors," said the Assassin. "Most of the voices are honest, pure truth. But mirrors are different. They don't tell what they see, but what you see in them. Tricky things."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "You jest."

"Sadly, I tell the truth," he said.

"Sadly is an interesting preface to that statement," I said in order to bypass a question.

"It is sad because that means when you see yourself in a mirror, you only dream up flaws for yourself," he said.

My cheeks flushed. "Perhaps the problem would best be remedied by thinking less of myself in the first place," I said. "That reminds me of a theory I read yesterday by Lorde..."

Chores were neglected, meals forgotten, and offers from desperate kingdoms left unattended in the following days. The Assassin was occupied with his first slice of peace in many years, and I with providing it. I don't know if the Assassin was ever fully aware of what I was doing, or if he was merely accepting it in that almost amiable way in which he accepted life's natural flow.

 _If this is love,_ I thought, _then it doesn't feel like how all the poems and stories make it out._

Love was supposed to be heart-racing, cheeks red, stomach tight, eyes doey and mind mushy. This was comfort. Comparing this to what I had expected love to be like was like comparing a cooking fire to a firework. It didn't blow me away, sweep me off my feat, leave me breathless and woozy.

But it was warm. And it was comforting. I was happy to care for my beast, ti simply be with him every day as I Tried to think of a way to help him permanently.

I questioned what sort of a love it was. Were there even different kinds? Was this the loyal love between friends? Or that between lovers?

At the time, it didn't matter much. All my focus was spent on helping him. Things slipped into routine again, and life resumed much as it once had, saving for two small things. One, the Assassin was no longer keeping me here by force. And two, he didn't have to.

It was in this time that his fortress had changed from my prison to my home.

"You don't resent it," the Assassin noted one day between speeches about foreign diplomacy over lunch.

"I don't really hold grudges," I responded. "Although if you're looking for a flaw to blame, my father used to say that I was remarkably good at self-deception. Apparently, when I was little, I convinced myself that I was a master artist. But looking back on my heart-felt scribbles, I can see that isn't quite true. And another time, I was positive that I could be a stone-hearted evil queen. That was most certainly not the case." We fell silent for a moment, so I added, "But not. I don't hold a grudge, my beast."

"What was that?" The question flew from the Assassin's mouth nearly before I had finished.

"Oh!" I cried, eyes widening. "I- it just slipped out," I stammered. "It's a sort of nickname I called you, when I first arrived here. And it's... it's meant to be endearing, but I can understand if you hate it."

The silence stretched between us. I ached to interrupt it, that chasm full of his torturous voices. I didn't need his monster to punish me; claws of my own raked over my heart as I grimaced at what I'd said. It was worse than a question; the voices were so loud I could nearly make them out.

"My beast," he echoed. "You said my."

He quickly had his face hidden behind the chipped cup, but I could have sworn I saw a silly grin just before.

I quickly lifted my cup to hide a silly grin of my own, reveling in the quietness of the voices and the contentment of my own life.


	11. Chapter 11

My beast. My beast. My beast.

The phrase kept repeating in the Assassin's mind, drowning out the other voices for the time being. He felt like a giddy boy just thinking about it. He was _happy_.

He hadn't been happy in a very, very long time.

The Assassin wanted nothing more than to engulf Belle in an embrace. He wanted to hold her as close to his chest as he could. He wanted to tell her how he loved her, not simply hope she knew. He wanted to kiss her.

But he could never, ever kiss his Beauty.

He knew the temptation was ever growing, however. So he decided after nearly a week and a half of the most silence he'd had in years that he needed to leave the castle.

"Only for a few days," he said to Belle.

"Someone to Assassinate?" she asked. It was a jesting voice, but he heard the concern behind it. Belle, beautiful Belle, was so pure at heart. She would never reconcile herself fully to what he did, who he was.

"A very bad someone," he said. "The monster takes control, so I choose his targets with care." For the first time in centuries, the Assassin and the Monster were not one and the same. He could tell a difference. Accentuate it.

It felt so freeing.

Travel was always strange for the Assassin. He saw nothing, but the voices painted the world around him in his mind. His eyes never saw a thing, but he knew more of his surroundings than anyone.

He knew every obstacle. The weather. Each person in the near vicinity and their every action. He knew everything on all sides, whether it was a threat or could be useful.

He could jump across rooftops, sneak through an entire castle unseen, attack a full party of men. He was unstoppable, undetectable, undefeatable.

He was a beast.

The monster would take over soon. His mind would go fuzzy and he would hunt by blood instead of by voice. He would make no decisions. He would only act, only kill.

There would be silence. Blissful, peaceful silence.

The Assassin walked through the forest, waiting for it to take over. But the trees never faded away, the voices never silenced.

"Where are you?" he growled.

"Waiting," whispered a tree.

The monster did not answer.

"Do you not want to kill?" demanded the Assassin. "Our target lies just beyond the forest!"

The voices grew frantic.

"Twenty people armed fire coming posse party hunting after the beast rescue the beauty hunt the beast," they chanted, voices rolling over one another.

The monster had been waiting.


	12. Chapter 12

"He's coming!" cried the cup.

I heard the front door slamming into the walls beside it. I heard the voices, all screaming so loudly that certain words rang in my ears.

"Blood falling arrows posse," they chanted.

I flew to the entryway where my beast had collapsed into a heap on the floor. A pool of blood was slowly spreading beneath him, rivulets running between the flagstones.

"My beast!" Before I knew it, I was kneeling beside his massive form. My fingers danced between the arrows that stuck out of his back, leaving smears of blood on his cloak.

"Coming... after..." he mumbled. "So many. So many voices."

I shut the doors, stopping the spring's chilly night wind before returning to the Assassin.

"Can you walk?" I asked. "At least into a room with a rug, I can't leave you on this stone floor."

"Where I left you?" The words were a mumble, laced with pain and barely heard from beneath his cloak.

"Just stand up," I said, hooking one of my arms beneath his.

I never could have lifted him myself, but the Assassin had some measure of strength left. Together, we managed to move him into one of his sitting rooms, where he collapsed once more on the carpet.

The voices were raging. The whole time I held him I could hear them screaming every detail of the world around us. No questions had to be asked. They were all answered before I could.

"A hunting party," I gasped. "A rescue party... oh, beast..."

He was silent.

"I need to undress you," I said. So loud. "Your wounds..."

"No!" cried the Assassin, fear and pain taking over. "I can't see you! It will tear you to shreds..."

I grasped his shoulders, my fingers barely spanning the width, and whispered, "Then close your eyes."

I removed his cloak, no longer starting at his abnormal face. I unbuttoned his vest and shirt.

"This wasn't how I imagined undressing a man for the first time," I said jestingly, unable to make out my own voice among the frantic others. But my beast could hear me, his mind was clear, and that was what mattered. "But it isn't the first wound I've taken care of," I added. "Nor arrow removed. My father wanted me to be lady-like, but Peter wanted me to be useful, so I became skilled in a lady-like way."

I didn't flinch as I removed the arrows, and my hands didn't shake. But the Assassin did not react either, although it should have been agonizing, and his stillness frightened me. How close to death was he?

How could the thought of his death terrify me so completely?

And when I had done my best, I couldn't bring myself to take my hand off of him. If he was living his final moments, they should be peaceful.

Exhausted from the noise and sudden lack of adrenaline, I leaned forward, my body curving along his massive back as I rested my head down.

I was frightened. I was being assaulted. But my beast was at peace, and I found my soul was too. In the warm firelight, I fell asleep to frenzied dreams. Beneath me, the beast slipped into silent ones.

I prayed they would not be his last.


	13. Chapter 13

So many things were wrong. But they did not assault the Assassin the barrage of voices. They came to him slowly, one by one, in a way that they had not for centuries.

One. It was silent.

Two. He was cold.

Three. He wasn't cold _everywhere_. A part of his back was warm.

Four. Almost all of his back hurt. In fact, almost all of him hurt.

Five. That warm sport on his back was a person.

Six. That person was Belle.

The Assassin sat up quickly, remembering at the last moment not to open his eyes. Belle slid off and the voices began.

"Waking up bleary opening eyes confused stiff standing opening mou-"

"Beast!" Belle cried behind him. Her voice was thick with sleep, her manner strained; the Assassin knew it was from a night of a thousand voices.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said gruffly, allowing the voices to guide him to his trousers and shirt. He grimaced slightly at the pain from his hardly-healed wounds, but the monster inside him could keep that at bay.

"Done what?" Behind him, Belle frowned, stretching out her muscles that were stiff from a night spent in an unnatural position.

"Kept contact all night," he said. "You could have gone mad."

"At least allow me to give you one night's respite from that hell," Belle retorted.

"Never again," he said warningly.

He almost regretted it. It had been so long since he had been granted such human contact. Waking up to her presence, that silence, her warmth... it would be something revisited only in memories, he swore to himself.

"What happened, exactly?" Belle asked when they were both fully awake, and the Assassin properly clothed. "The voices were... well, difficult to really understand. All I knew was a hunting party. One that wanted to rescue me."

The Assassin could feel his heart sinking. He had nearly forgotten about the reason behind the abnormal morning.

"There is little more to know. There were enough men that I couldn't fight them all." And the monster hadn't helped him. "They'll find this fortress in time. And by that time, you will no longer be here."

"What?" Belle's shock was evident.

The Assassin turned, facing her.

"Belle," he said, voice pained. "You cannot stay here."

"Wh ever not?" she demanded stubbornly.

There were so many reasons, all of them supplied by the voices around and within him.

Because they'll take you away. Because I put you in danger. Because you deserve better than this castle and a madman. Because I love you.

"Because I said so."

"I can't leave you," said Belle with a nervous laugh. "You need me."

"To what? Tame my monster?" asked the Assassin. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Beauty dear, but the beast doesn't care to be tamed. Keep trying and you'll find yourself dead. Whatever you think you've seen to prove the beast's worthiness is a lie."

"But the voices-" Belle protested.

"Heed no voice but this!" screamed the Assassin. "Leave. This. _Castle_!"

She did leave. What other choice did the Beauty have?

The voices reveled in telling him every detail. Of how she hated each step she took away from the fortress. Of how she felt like she was leaving what had become her home. How she still questioned if she could have helped him. Of how she thought he decided he didn't care for her.

But the Assassin was focused only on one voice. The missing one. His monster.

"You wanted this," he whispered, feeling tears on his cheeks. "You wanted her gone in any way possible. You couldn't' risk the threat she posed, the threat of losing your grip on me."

He could hear it smiling.

Enraged and grieved, the Assassin attacked. There was nothing to attack, so everything suffered. The curtains Belle had meticulously mended. The carpets she had cleaned. The dishes she had dusted. it was all in tatters and shard around him. All save one.

"She cared," whispered the chipped cup sadly.

"Which is why she had to leave." The Assassin was lying on the floor, surrounded by his own carnage. His wounds were reopened, inside and out.

He wanted Belle. He needed Belle. He loved Belle. But she had to go. He couldn't risk killing her, she couldn't risk her loving him. It would all hurt her in the end.

Only he could be hurt. Only the beast, always the beast.

He had thought he was as broken as he could ever be. His mind was shattered. His heart was broken. But the monster had proven again and again that there was always something else to break. Always another person to kill.

"But she's alive," whispered the cup. "She's alive and she will be happy again, thanks to you. She couldn't save the beast, but you saved the Beauty. You saved her. You love her. You saved her."

And with a grim smile, the Assassin picked himself up off the floor. He sat in his usual chair and began to reply to letters, long over-due.


	14. Chapter 14

The scene was almost familiar. I sat at a long table in a great stone room, looking down at my teacup and preparing to ask a question. But at the table's head was a king, not an assassin, and the man awaiting my question was not a beast.

At least, not my beast.

"What will killing him accomplish?" I asked. I meant for it to sound nothing more than exasperated, but there was a tinge of fear in my voice. "He let me go free."

"You lost a year of your life," Gaston argued. "And you are not free of his grip. See, as even now you argue for him!"

"Were you so eager to gain another kingdom that you could not wait a year?" I asked waspishly. He had married very shortly after my absence, although his princess had died giving birth to Gaston's son. He wasted little time in mourning her after hearing of my arrival back to Tearian.

"Belle," Peter scolded softly.

"We all know it's true," I snapped. It seemed that the time being careful of my every word to the Assassin made me no more tactful around mere mortals like Gaston. The man had once held much power, and even intimidated me.

Compared to my beast, this man was nothing.

"You care nothing for me, only for our land," I said. "Fine, have it. I don't care for inheriting it, even should my father trust my judgement." The barbed words caused my father to jerk slightly. "Only leave my- the Assassin alone."

"This is why we must kill him," said Gaston yet again. "He bewitched you, Belle."

"Pardon me for finding his manners more charming than your greed," I said, barely keeping my voice to a civil volume, if not tone. "And killing the only person that seems to truly care for me won't make me stop caring for him!"

"We do care for you, Belle," said my father gently. But I could hear the undercurrents of his voice; fear, frustration. Fear of losing me. Fear of looking weak in front of Gaston. Fear of the Assassin.

"Eliminating the monster will make it easier for you to transition back to your real life," said Gaston in a coaxing voice.

That was my real life, I longed to scream. But I knew it could not be. The Assassin had chosen his monster over me, power over love. I ought to let Gaston go after him. Then one of them will die, and either way is a little more peace in the world.

My heart wrenched at the thought of the Assassin, having lost all his peace now that I was gone. Surrounded by voices.

Perhaps death would be a mercy.

"-an proceed with the wedding and pretend none of it ever happened," my father was saying in his most soothing voice.

"No," I mumbled. "No! It happened. It will always have happened. We cannot run from that."

"And we will not be wed in any case," declared Gaston.

I looked up in disbelief.

"Gaston... are you truly here to just help?" I asked. Suddenly, I couldn't see why he was here. What did he gain?

"In the time you were away, Prince Gaston was here for me," said my father. "He was a great comfort. Like a son to me. But my prince, why will you not marry Belle? Such was the plan before the monster took her away."

"Yes, before the monster," said Gaston. "But imagine what he's done to her. I cannot take such a woman as my wife, even a second one."

I wished I had a thousand voices, so I could scream every argument and insult at him that pounded in my ears. Rage burned through every vessel of my being. Civility was a thing of the past.

" _Such a wife?!_ " I yelled, causing them both to jump. "Such as you? You are no virgin, we know that much! Why should such a thing be expected of me, then? And in any case, my Assassin never so much as touched me! He did not allow himself. A show of self-restraint I'm certain you never bothered to put in place." My mind flashed to caresses and kisses, never invited but always bestowed with an air of ownership. "You are vile, Gaston." My rage ended in a hiss, silent and barbed.

"If he did not touch your body," Gaston retorted. "He has still touched your mind. That is unworthy behavior of a princess."

"I fear you are right, my prince," sighed my father, looking at me as though I were a broken piece of china and not his daughter. "The Assassin has ruined our Belle, as we feared."

"What are you saying?" I asked, body suddenly numb. A chill settled in my stomach as I looked between the two men. _Like a son like a son like a son like a son to me_ repeated in my head.

"That was why," I mumbled, eyes widening. "That is how. Oh, I _am_ brainless. How did I not see it? But even more importantly," I said, turning to my father. "How did you not see it? Oh, father, Gaston hasn't changed an ounce."

"Perhaps," said the king, not listening to me. Not really. Only one voice and he couldn't focus on it. "But you have changed so much, my dear. Too much."

It was like a nightmare. I was powerless, tossed between two evils like a plaything, trapped and without a voice. Perhaps if I had my own voices, my own monster, I could find the right argument, the right escape. But I was only Belle, and I had lost my Beast.


	15. Chapter 15

My father sent clergies to remove the Assassin's foul spirit from me. He sent hunters to track and kill him. He sent condolences to Gaston's kingdom for being unable to provide a fit wife. All the while, Gaston comforted my 'poor, poor father'. All the while, I was locked in my room where my tortured mind would do no damage. And all the while, my beast was suffering in his fortress, all alone or dying.

Slave for a thousand voices.

"Princess Belle?" said a meek-sounding voice from outside my door. I was no longer fooled by it, however.

"I am no longer Tearian's princess," I answered mechanically. My father may as well have disowned me.

"You will be once your mind and soul are sound once more," replied the clergy. "May I come in?"

"You have the key to my room," I replied. "Not I." The venom in my voice was impossible to keep out.

I wondered if he could hear it. Did I only hear it louder, or could others not hear it at all?

The clergy entered the room. "I am sorry that you feel so powerless," he said. "But the Assassin's grip on your life will fade with time and rituals."

"The only grip on my life," I said, voice shaking with tears. "Is that of a father and a prince who refuse to have faith in me, after I sacrificed everything in order to save them."

Even in my anger I could not hate them. Gaston was a monster, but sometimes a well-meaning one. My father was gullible, and seemed to truly believe that he was doing what was best. And the clergy were only doing their pious duty.

But I could not tame everyone's beast, and my heart and mind were set on only one.

The clergy man looked at me with condescending pity. "Shall we begin the ritual?" he asked.

And so I sat through more hours of chanting, holy essences and incense that tickled my nose. All of it was designed to purge me of the Assassin's supernatural evil spirits.

But nothing could stop the voices.

It was like the Assassin had opened up a window that would never again be closed. I rarely heard specific words. Only int eh moments between waking and sleeping, or when I was near a particularly loud artifact. But they were always present, a sea of voices that let me know what happened beyond the scope of my five natural senses.

It was not much at all. Only there if I concentrated. So weak that I feared even the clergy's incense my break it. But it was ever present, my final link to my beast.

In my hours of solitude between rituals, I had plenty of time for thinking. My thoughts were far from pleasant; most of my mind was occupied with the Assassin sending me away. It hurt to think about. It was, I fancy, what having a broken heart felt like. I had been torn form a home, a love, a life that made me happy.

But hindsight always exaggerates. I knew the life was not idyllic. The Assassin was still a monster, still cursed. I had walked on eggshells, and spent much of my time worrying for him. I had given myself to a life of always helping the unhelpable.

But I had still loved him, and he me. Which is why his rejection didn't make sense to me.

Even if he didn't love me, a heart-wrenching thought, he still needed me. I could make his voices vanish. I could help him. And if nothing else, I kept his fortress clean. And so, I decided, his sending me away was not for his sake.

Which meant it was for mine.

During a clergy session, a memory clicked into place. When he had removed his hood, when his crazed eyes settled on me. He had been sent into a panic. He forced me away, sending me to my cell.

And whenever his voices were fully present, there was one. It was ever screaming, dripping with blood. _Kill her_ , it always cried.

My beast wanted to save me. The monster inside hadn't helped him kill the posse because it was desperate to keep its hold on the Assassin. A hold that only I could break. And when faced with the choice of freedom after years of torment or protecting his witless serving girl, my beast had chosen me.

"Why do you cry, Princess Belle?" asked the clergy man gently, waving a stick of purifying, burning incense under my nose.

"Because you have ripped the only person that loved me from my life," I said quietly, a tear streaking down my face.

The clergy man sighed. "It seems we will have to move to less pleasant methods. May the gods have mercy." He bowed his head.

But I hardly heard him. A voice was ringing in my head.

 _Gods? What gods matter in the face of trails._

 _When man is laid low, and gods be exalted?_

 _When man, on earth, has walked his miles,_

 _The gods in their reign shall be halted._

The poem, a sacrilegious piece I had once read to my beast, came to mind mid-prayers.

I rather think he would have liked that.


	16. Chapter 16

The clergy man was honest, if nothing else.

The new method was not pleasant in the least.

I had experienced all manner of emotional torture in the past year. Abandonment, rejection, heartache and failure. But physical torture had been minimal. Until the clergy became involved.

I was deprived of food save for what little was necessary to keep me alive. I was placed in heated rooms to sweat out the demons, and slept in chambers colder than even my beast's to freeze their grasp on my soul. Whether my father and Gaston were aware or not I didn't know; I couldn't imagine my father consenting to such treatment, regardless of any demons.

The days melted into weeks, which slid by without count. My mind was foggy, my heart was heavy, and my soul was branded by voices.

Voices. Voices surrounded me. Muffled, mumbled, whispering and unclear. They melded with that of the clergy men, that of a guard, that of a serving girl. Time was meaningless. Pain was constant. Thoughts were vague. There was no comfort, no place to hide. I was completely exposed to these people.

Pain breaks you down. And I was never given enough time to rebuild myself out of stronger stuff.

One day, I gave in. I told them what they wanted to hear. I repeated their words, echoed their hopes, succumbed to their dreams. I couldn't really think about it. I couldn't decide if it mattered or not. But I knew I didn't want another beating. I knew I wanted food. And a bed would be lovely.

The clergy man declared me free of evil spirits.

I was sent to my room to "recuperate from the exhaustive experience".

I was nursed back to health. As my physical strength grew, so did my mental clarity. And I despised what I'd done. I hated the clergy man. The thought of my father or Gaston grated against my nerves. Part of me was even mad at my beast. _If he hadn't turned me out_ , I thought, _I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't have gone through that. I would have been safe and happy in his castle with him._

But with isolation, my hatred cooled. I knew why everyone had done what they had done.

I only wish I had been given a voice in the events.

 _Actions speak louder than words_. It was a simple phrase, embroidered on a pillow in my room. The Assassin's choice to defy his voices was louder than the voices themselves. Gaston's actions of duplicity outweighed his sweet words. And my actions would scream where my voice was silenced.

I was finally permitted to be reintegrated into my old life. A few breakfasts with the others. A formal dinner. A supper.

"I'm so glad that you're better, Belle," said my father with a kindly smile on one occasion. I forced one of my own. It was hard to smile at my father and what he had allowed. But it could be coaxed with the thought of the Assassin, and his reasons for sending me away.

"Thank you, Father," I said.

Gaston was not so pleased. If I had proved to be incurable, he had little doubt that my father would have named him heir. Neither did I, for that matter. It sicked me; lies, planning and even abuse for one's own gain. It made me feel ill.

I longed for simpler days. Days I was determined to have back, despite the protests of any royals or assassins.

Leaving proved to be a difficult matter. Though I had been declared pure once more, I was still watched closely. _To think_ , I thought, _that the castle I once called my home is now my prison, and the fortress I once called a prison is now my home_.

I needed help. But the servants that I had left in the place of now mistrusted me. My father did not believe in me, and Gaston was... well, Gaston. So I went to the one man I had always trusted.

Dear Peter, the royal advisor, had been a tutor, a friend, a disciplinarian, and even a surrogate mother to me. I knew telling him could very well result in my plans failing and being sent back to the torturous weeks before. But I had the feeling that Peter would be enraged if he knew what they had done to me.

"Peter?" I asked. The tall, thin man turned. He was perfectly bald and cleanly shaven, dressed in robes that were regal enough to show his status, but not royal enough to outclass my father.

"Yes, Princess Belle?" he asked mildly.

"I need your help."

"So you have for many years, Princess," he said.

"It's a little more than a scrapped knee, I'm afraid."

"Leaving will be considerably more difficult than applying a bandage."

"What?!"

"Princess, I have seen you both be honorable in the most agonizing of situations, and I have seen you attempting to cover up a theft from the kitchens. I daresay I know you better than your own father."

"That would be saying little these days," I said sadly, and perhaps with a little bitterness.

"Indeed, Princess."

"Can you help me leave?"

Peter sighed. "Must you go? I cannot imagine you being happy there."

I looked down at the ground, feeling not unlike the younger me attempting to explain the reasons behind her pastry theft.

"He needs me. And..." I could have sworn I heard the chipped cup in my mind. "I care for him."

Peter was silent as his quill scratched on a letter.

"There have been rumors," he said after a moment. "Of Queen Snow of the White Kingdom relying on a supernatural force to defeat her step mother's armies in the weeks you were recuperating. It would be wise-" he folded the paper and sealed it with drippings of wax. "-of your father to send an emissary to ensure she does not turn her rage towards Tearian, and to offer our support."

He handed the letter to me.

"And of course, I advise looking into the matter of her supernatural warrior," he said in a deadpan. "Some minor reconnaissance would be most prudent."

The letter was addressed to Queen Snow, titled with the subject of a coming ambassador.

"Thank you, Peter," I said. Tears pressed to be released, but I held them at bay.

"You are not the first love-sick princess I have had to help," he said evenly. "Your mother was every bit as persistent as you."

"My mother?" I asked, looking up from my letter.

"Your father was not considered the most advantageous husband for her. But your mother was quite set on making him her husband, and therefore the future king. I daresay I taught him all he knows of ruling a kingdom."

 _That_ , I thought, _explains much about his skill at running a kingdom_.

"Your mother loved him dearly, for all his faults," continued Peter. "She was quite content with the future he offered her. She would run the kingdom, her loving if slow husband supporting her. It is a shame that she did not get to live that life for long." He pressed his fingertips to my arm, permitting himself a small familial gesture. "I only ask Princess Belle if she will be content with the life this Assassin can provide."

"I already was," I whispered, tears in my eyes.

Dinner was, as ever, an awkward affair. Prince Gaston, though not a family member, was still treated as such. But now that I was declared free of all evil spirits, I was heir to the kingdom. A fact that no doubt made him a little less inclined to be a part of my family.

And my only true family left was not one I had any wish to be near. I still loved my father, but I didn't like him. He had refused to have faith in me, and sentenced me to those beatings and prayers at the request of a foreign prince. And if personal grievances were not enough, he was running Tearian towards ruin.

"Father, I have a proposition that may save the kingdom from further misfortunes," I said.

Both my father and Gaston looked up, one in delight and one with suspicion.

"What is that, dear?" asked the King.

"Queen Snow is building up her armies to attack her stepmother's, and defend the White Kingdom," I said. This was hardly news; the gossip was one of the main topics in any court. "We ought to send an emissary to ensure that Queen Snow knows she has Tearian's support and alliance. Tearian has little to offer to the White Kingdom, but securing trust will ease any fear over growing forces."

"Belle is quite right," said Prince Gaston. He quickly swallowed a bite of food. "I shall set out at once."

"Actually," I said, voice growing cold. "I think that would be unwise. You are a _dear_ friend and your country is our ally, but a citizen of Tearian should propose Tearian's alliances."

"It is said that Queen Snow is using a mystical warrior to aide her. If it should be the Assassin, I think it would be even more unwise to send you into his Oath again," said Gaston.

"That is the silliest thing I've heard!" I cried.

"Do you think I will sabotage your alliance proposal?" Gaston demanded. "That I might conveniently forget to mention it? What ulterior motive could I possibly have, princess? I know that you wish to see evil in all my ways, but I assure you that this is for your own safety!"

"I don't know what your plan is," I snapped. "But your motive for anything is always yourself!"

Then Peter, dear Peter, stepped in.

"Ulterior motive or not," he said evenly. "It would be unwise to send only one ambassador. The princess for Tearian, and the Prince of Charmyn."

"Yes," said my father in his definitive voice, happy to have a solution handed to him. "Both shall go."

And one return, I thought happily.


	17. Chapter 17

The Assassin stood beside Queen Snow's throne. Whether she wanted to impress or threaten her visitor and courtesans, the Assassin wasn't certain. But it was evident she no longer cared if the rumors were proven true.

He could hear the young noble-ladies gossiping about his 'magnificent jawline'. He could hear the older noblemen sniffing about how he was untrustworthy and their wives saying he was giving the queen a whorish reputation. He knew the guards were watching him, and he could hear Queen Snow's guests arriving.

Mostly, he just heard the monster raging. He was in a drunken frenzy, eager for more blood.

Always for more blood.

"More! They're right there! KILL THEM. The girl in yellow is walking to the Queen. The man by the window has five weapons. KILL. There are no threats to the Queen. The guests are outside the door. The door is opening. THEM. The crowd is parting. The guests are stepping in. One is haughty one is beautiful. The Queen stands for them. Thank you for coming all the way from Tearian you're welcome your majesty the haughty man is simpering the girl opens her mo-"

They fell silent.

 _No._

"Beast!"

Belle's voice. Beautiful, beautiful Belle. No no NO. _Kill her!_

"Pardon me?" demanded Queen Snow, mistaking Belle's cry for an insult.

Belle was running towards him. He should run. He should leave through a window or the door or the other door three exits _kill her_ guards moving silence.

She was touching him.

Blissful silence.

"What are you doing here?" He did his best to make his voice contemptuous. Reject her. Refuse her advances. You despise her.

"Dont' try that," she said in a scolding tone. The crowd behind her was murmuring eagerly. Gaston was furious, no doubt. But without those voices he was so blind. So free. "I know why you sent me away. You were worried for me. But beast, don't be! I was so happy and I love youa-"

She was jerked away from him. The voices all came back.

"Bell, _no_ ," said the voice of Prince Gaston.

"I didn't want you to come anyways," Belle said in a voice that was nearly ferocious.

"He's bewitching you again!" Gaston snarled. The Assassin was enraged. No one snarled at Belle. "We need to get you back to the clergy men and way from this monster."

"The clergy?" Belle said incredulously. "So they can pray and wave smoke in my face and beat the evil spirits out of me? No! No more, Gaston. I am never returning to that, or to Tearian."

Her hands were on the Assassin again. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "It took me too long to puzzle out. But I can help you now."

"They beat you." His voice was numb.

"Let's leave," Belle pressed. "Back to your fortress. I can help you now, my beast. No more blood. No more voices."

"No," the Assassin said. It was a whisper, tender and heart-broken. "You will not help me. I will never allow that."

"Belle-" Gaston started.

 _I will kill him. I will rip off his skin and pull him apart muscle by muscle for hurting my Beauty,_ thought the Assassin.

A single, bloody voice in his head.

Then a thousand raging ones as Belle's hands left him.

And then sight.

Belle flung his hood back, revealing his face to the court. They all gasped or screamed at the sight. And the monster wanted, needed to kill them all.

The voice left as her hands grasped his face. She was standing on tip-toe to reach him.

"Belle," he mumbled, mind suddenly moving slowly. Too slowly. "What... what are you doing?"

"I love you," she whispered.

Then he pressed her lips to his.

"No," he mumbled against them. "No no no! Belle, what have you done?"

"What do you mean?" She looked at him with concern. Not for herself; never for herself. Always for him. For a beast, for a monster, for a man that could do nothing but kill her. Or worse.

It was so, so much worse.

He pulled away from Belle's blissful touch. But the voices did not follow.

They stayed with her.

There was no breaking his curse.

There was only taking it for herself.

"No, Beauty," he gasped, tears falling down his face. Her eyes rolled back into her head.

He had to save her. Death was better than that life. Anything was better than that life.

He tried to draw a knife, to slit her throat, to watch her beautiful life spill out on the floor. But he couldn't. He couldn't do it.

He closed his eyes. There were no voices to tell him what happened. He didn't need them.

When he opened them, Belle was gone. There was only a beast.

It ran.

End of Book I


	18. Chapter 18

**Book II**

 _There is no thing as an end to pain;_

 _It only becomes another's gain._

* * *

The Assassin was perched on a windowsill, face concealed and senses alert. It was dark, and he was nearly ten floors up; chances of being spotted by the few people below were slim.

He inched along the sill, then made a skillfully calculated jump to the next one. The Assassin crouched, pulling two tools from his belt. With practiced fingers, he unlocked the window and swung it open.

Curtains fluttered in the fresh breeze. The Assassin dropped to the floor of the room beyond, scanning for people. The room was dim, empty save for a bed with a sleeping woman.

Queen Snow.

The Assassin snapped his fingers loudly in front of her face. There was no reaction. He grimaced, then turned to the room's door. Deftly, he undid the locks, pulled it open, snatched the chain-mail hood of the guard outside and yanked the man in before he had time to react. Then he closed and locked the door.

"I- wha-" the guard stammered, blinking in the dark room. His hand was moving towards the handle of the sword in his belt.

The Assassin batted away the man's hand and unsheathed the sword for him, then tossed it to the other side of the room.

"Why are you guarding Snow?" demanded the Assassin.

"I- she is our q-queen..." The guard was utterly bewildered. "Assassin, why are you here? You deser-"

"She's good as dead and Malif rules you," corrected the Assassin.

The guard had regained his wits. "No!" he protested. "Queen Snow will wake. She is our ruler."

 _Romantics_ , the Assassin thought with a grim smile. The guard was one of the people still loyal to their cursed queen. They had faith in her rule, love for her person.

Just the sort of love the Assassin needed.

"Good," he said, mirthless smile visible beneath his hood. "Kiss her."

"...what?" The guard stopped trying to inch towards his sword.

"You heard me. If you love your queen, and if you want her to wake, kiss her."

Bravely fighting off nervous shakes, the guard turned and took a few steps towards his sleeping queen.

"I cannae," he said, voice faltering. "I cannae do that to Snow!"

"Clergy's sake," the Assassin muttered. "Just kiss the woman and break the curse already!"

The guard put a hand to Snow's arm. Instantly, he got a woozy look to him, and Snow's face twitched.

 _Thank the gods_ , thought the Assassin.

The guard bent down, then briefly pressed his lips to Snow's.

Then fell limp on top of her.

Years of training and a fierce instinct caused Snow to shove the weight off of her, reaching for a non-existant sword. The poor guard slumped to the floor, armor rattling loudly against the flagstones.

"Good morning!" said the Assassin cheerfully.

Snow looked from the Assassin to the sleeping guard, icy blue eyes darting around the dark room. She took a step towards her former employee.

"You bastard."

"Calm down, m'lady," said the Assassin. "All's well. Well, no, it isn't. But it will be, especially if you start listening to me and doing _exactly_ what I say.

"You order me now?" Snow raised a dark eyebrow. "After leaving me to the mercy of Malif's armies?"

"Your step-mother couldn't have been stopped by me," the Assassin scoffed. "I'm strong, I'm skilled, but I'm mortal. You needed the Monster."

"And just where is the monster?"

She was an intimidating figure. There was strength in her build, and a coldness to her features that suited her name. This woman was a warrior, much like the Assassin. But rather than doing bloody deeds in the shroud of night, she had twisted them into a glory that allowed her to lead and inspire men. The Assassin only scared them.

"Where's Malif?" he countered.

"That girl is working for my stepmother?" Snow's face was stricken, terrified at the thought.

Not much could terrify Queen Snow.

"Without the beast, Malif wasted no time in descending on the White Kingdom. You thought she was done once she'd cursed you and gotten her revenge. But Malif had bigger plans. She left, which is the only reason the survivors of your army were able to guard your body, to seek more power. And the Monster likes power."

Snow was silent, contemplating the Assassin's words. "You want to hunt it. Get it back."

At the word _hunt_ , images of arrows slamming through Belle's body came unbidden to the Assassin's mind.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I can control it. It controlled me for centuries, but over time I mastered the voices. B- that girl has only been in contact with those briefly. She could never hope to keep it from doing as it wishes."

"You betrayed me. That monster is the ultimate curse. Why on earth should I help you gain it back?"

 _Because otherwise, Belle may die._ "Because otherwise, it belongs to Malif."

Snow sighed heavily, looking down at the sleeping guard. "I know how curses work, Assassin. I'm not so naive as Malif paints me out." The Assassin nearly chuckled at the thought of an innocent, naive Snow. "There must be... caring to shift the curse."

"My problem. Not yours."

The former queen gave a regal nod. "Off to hunt a beast, then."

Off to save a beauty.

The Assassin never wanted Belle to take the curse. Everything he'd done was to avoid just that. Because curses are never, ever broken. They only get passed on, given away, taken. And now it was his beautiful Belle that was cursed with all those voices, all that blood. His hands shook at the thought of it.

The Beast hadn't wanted Belle to take the curse either; the Assassin was trained. He was built to do the Beast's deeds. But Belle had been too brave to run from the Beast's screams, and too stubborn to leave under the Assassin's orders.

 _She never should have come_ , thought the Assassin numbly. _I should have just taken that fop's offer of gold instead of demanding some company. Nothing good comes of mixing the Beast with people._

As Snow and the Assassin prepared for a journey through the White Kingdom to Malif's fortress in Charmyn, her latest plunder, he continued to berate himself. He argued with Belle in his head, he yelled at the beast, and he raked claws across his heart. It was as though his mind was too empty from the lack of voices; he had to make up his own.

But he would have those voices back. If it killed him, if it killed Snow, if it killed Belle.

His beauty would not suffer one syllable more.


	19. Chapter 19

"Blood feast fear thrash old woman walking through Narrow'd Path run _kill her_."

"Hush," I scolded.

The beast quivered in rage at being so blatantly defied.

I took a certain amount of pride in it. There was something about refusing to obey the beast that left me smug. But it was costly. I found the searing headache to be more painful than even the deluge of voices. Those could almost be stubbornly ignored. But to defy the beast?

It required never looking at people, lest the sheer blood-lust take over. it required forced solitude. IT REQUIRED MORE STUFF FILL IT IN.

I dropped my forehead to my knees, which were barely covered by the tattered yellow gown I'd worn to find the Assassin at Queen Snow's palace. My hair was a tangled nest of locks and I was filthy with mud and blood. Not that of a humans; I was adamant.

When I had... turned, all I knew to do was run. The beast was furious. He wanted to tear everyone from limb to limb. He wanted to _kill_.

And that did not sit well with me.

"Kill," the beast snapped.

"No. You can sit in a corner and think about what you've done," I said.

"Kill," the beast muttered indignantly.

I let him stew, turning my focus to the creatures around me. Birds disrupted the leaves of nearby trees, the only sign of life in the forest. The beast snapped to attention.

"Kill?" It was almost hopeful, but with a razor-sharp edge.

"Kill," I said resignedly.

The voices suddenly grew louder. An ocean of voices, weaving in and out, cutting one another off and breaking up. The entire world was in my head, not a single existence or movement escaping my nearly omniscient conscious.

My hand snatched a pebble off the ground, nearly moving of its own accord. With a fluidity unattainable by any normal person, I flung it through the air. It soared, fa,ling just short of its mark. It landed closer to the Narrow'd Path than my prey was sitting.

"We are not killing the old lady," I scolded the Beast. "Either we kill the bird or we kill nothing."

"Kill," he growled with a resentful reluctance. The second stone hit a bird in the head. The soft body fell through the branches, landing in the grass with a gentle _flunk_.

"Blood," the beast purred eagerly.

"Blood," I echoed.

Always blood.


	20. Chapter 20

Queen Snow was soon armed and dressed in more protective clothing than the burial gown she had been sleeping in. Her ebony hair was pulled back from her face, her blood-red lips pursed in concentration as she poured over a map.

It was strange, after so many centuries, to be able to see someone instead of relying on a thousand descriptions to picture their features. And it was doubly strange to see people as ugly or, in Snow's case, beautiful, instead of as little more than meat.

But there was only one Beauty to focus on.

"Milaf has taken over all the land colored with purple dye," the Assassin explained.

"All of the White Kingdom, all of Charmyn, and the Free Towns of the east mountain range," Snow murmured. "The coasts remain untouched."

"Charmyn was the last to fall. Rumors claim it was a negotiated takeover."

"Tearian remains."

"It is said the beast fled to Tearian's forests," said the Assassin. "And Milaf fears the fallen princess may become enraged and attack. After all..." His voice faltered. "She gave herself to a monster to save Tearian. Now the rumor is that she has become one for the same result."

The rumor had been partially spread by himself; the fewer people willing to go after Belle, the more likely the chance she would remain relatively unscathed. But time was a danger still. Malif would not wait forever to claim such a warrior for her own purposes, and the beast could not be kept from murderous rampage for long.

That was the strangest thing. The Assassin remembered his blood-baths with vivid clarity. Times when the beast had full control and killed hundreds mercilessly. He had been a famed, unkillable monster. As he gained control and legends died, he began to take work as an Assassin, earning his name. His one skill, his one reason to life.

Until belle.

But there had been no stories of entire villages slaughtered. not even rumors of livestock gone missing. Perhaps with Malif's power on the rise, people simply hadn't noticed.

"Where is she really?" asked Snow, interrupting the Assassin's thoughts.

"The beast likes forests," said the Assassin. "And the cursed victim usually runs to a familiar place. It's possible she is in Tearian, but more likely she's near my fortress."

Snow raised her eyebrows. "Fortress?"

"Did you think I lived in a den?" The Assassin reached across the table to pluck an apple out of a bowl.

"I assumed you moved from job to job."

"I didn't take many. They're dangerous. A lot of people die." He took a bite.

"That's what you were paid to do."

"Around the beast, everyone pays," he said darkly. The Assassin held up his fruit. "Apple?" he offered in a cheerful tone.

"No thanks," Snow said, blue eyes dropping back to the map. "I've lost my taste for those. Where is your fortress?"

The Assassin tapped a spot on the map. "Hereabouts," he said lightly.

She nodded. "And just what do you need from me in this?"

"The beast sees everything. There's no sneaking up on it. But Belle is an untrained maiden, which means two things. One, the beast doesn't want her. He doesn't like transitioning between people, but he wants a capable host. The curse is used to me, and will likely be eager to curse me again."

"I'm still not relevant."

Someone would think she didn't want to be woken up, the Assassin thought irritably. Then again, waking to your entire kingdom in ruins and the world in the control of your step-mother wouldn't exactly make for a grand mood.

"Two, we are arguably the best warriors in the land. I cannot subdue anyone under the curse by myself, and no doubt you know the tales of your own ancestor's attempts. But as a team, we are more likely than anyone to succeed."

Snow sighed. "I don't like this. Any of it."

"The odds are remarkably in our favor given the circumstances," the Assassin commented.

"After we subdue the beast and you take the curse, you will help me defeat Malif," Snow said, eyes watching me sharply.

The Assassin gave a nod, pulling up his hood. "The beast will be at your service," he promised.

The two went to the stables. It was slower than the Assassin would've liked; everyone was delighted that Snow was alive, and the two had to make the loyal guards swear to not breath a word of it to anyone.

"Guard the secret of my shifted curse more carefully than you guarded my body," Snow would whisper. The tearful guards and citizens would nod, beaming widely at their beloved queen.

The Assassin occasionally got a terrified glance. He considered himself rather lucky.

Within the hour the warriors were mounted and riding towards the fortress. The noble queen and the bloody assassin, fighting in tandem for their own sort of love.

"How long have I been asleep?" Snow asked, swaying in motion with her horse.

"Hearsay says roundabout four months," said the Assassin.

"Malif did all that in four months?"

The Assassin twisted in his saddle to look at the shocked Queen, corners of his mouth turned up grimly.

"You were considered the strongest person in all the lands, m'lady. When you fell, the others cowered."

She grimaced. "Malif has always been strongest."

"In some ways."

"In all ways. What do you know of my stepmother?"

"Not much, come to think. The beast didn't dwell on her much while she was..."

"Banished." Snow's lips twisted in a smile. "Taboo in the White Kingdom, to punish your parents. But if anyone deserved it, Malif did."

There was silence for a moment, save for the clopping of horse hooves on the dirt path. But the Assassin knew Snow; she was gathering her thoughts, ordering them before presenting them.

"My mother died in childbirth, taking what was to be my brother and the future king to the grave with her," Snow began. "That left him with a daughter for an heir, an unthinkable thing in any of the Four Kingdoms. But Red was falling to famine, and relied on White for food. With Blue and Black in strife, the kingdoms were desperate for some solidity. So the Red King abdicated, sending his queen to marry my father."

"Malif, I presume?" The Assassin's grasp of ancient history was unparalleled, since he had lived it, but his modern politics were lacking.

"She was less than happy with the arrangement, but women and children had no rights in the Four, or now Three, Kingdoms at the time. Malif was obsessed with bringing back the Red Kingdom. She thought her husband was a coward and despised her new family. All was well and good until we found out she had arranged for her old husband's murder."

"...oops," muttered the Assassin.

Snow looked as though she were going to say something, then just shook her head before continuing.

"We tried to cover it up, but the Black Kingdom found out, the Kingdoms fell apart entirely. It's still called the Four Way war. I was an angry, angst-ridden girl of eighteen or so and defied every order and joined the army. Things were so chaotic that arguments concerning my sex were simply irrevelant. Within two years, it was simply the White Kingdom against Malif and a smattering of Black and Blue regiments. My father passed and I became Queen. Things in the White Kingdom were completely different. But still Malif and her armies fought. We've been skirmishing for nearly seven years, until I became exhausted and hired you."

"That went well."

"Things with Malif always do. But now I've a question concerning your history."

"Oh, that would take me a fortnight to declaim," said the Assassin dismissively.

"It will be fairly recent history," Snow promised. "How was a girl you'd enslaved able to shift your curse?"

The question sounded so innocent. But the Assassin heard the voices beneath, the real questions. How could a girl like that love a monster like you?

"I don't know," the Assassin said softly.


	21. Chapter 21

I was huddled against the gates of my Assassin's fortress, tears streaming down my cheeks. The voices rolled and crashed and slammed into my mind, invading every thought and image with their thousands and thousands of words. I was drowning, completely overwhelmed.

I'd tried to amuse myself, to take my mind off of things. I pictured myself furry like the Assassin had bee, with long ears and a shaggy mane. I wrote him a mental letter about the different voices I'd acquainted. I apologized to Queen Snow for ruining her ball. I scared Gaston, I assured Peter I was okay, I struggled to forgive my father. But it was all in my head.

All in my head.

How did he stand it for centuries? And, I wondered, how did he become cursed in the first place? Was it like with me, an unknowing kiss? Did he do it to spare a loved one, as I still would have done had I known? Or was he the original beholder of the curse?

I didn't know. I would never know. Because the screaming monster wanted him back, and no matter how tempted I was, I would not allow my beast to suffer again.

Never again.

Which is why when the voices told me of his coming, when the monster railed and tried to force me, I stood up stiffly from my spot and walked away, heart shattering all over again with every step.


	22. Chapter 22

"When do we admit she isn't here, Assassin?" Snow asked. She was squatting on the other side of the fire, her intense face contrasted between shadow and fierce orange.

"Now," said the Assassin, masking his bitterness.

Snow's face was nearly a snarl. "We've wasted too much time here. Time I could have spent stopping my stepmother."

The Assassin looked at the base of the fire for a moment before looking up at Snow.

"We're stopping Malif."

"By sitting in a forest?"

"By going after the one weapon Malif is never allowed to use."

"We have accomplished _nothing_."

The Assassin stood, toes of his boots creating a trench in the pine needles before him.

"Because I'm a moron. The beast will want to come to me. He hasn't So obviously, he can't. No hunter could get him. Malif already has him."

Snow's muscles went rigid.

"You want to take the beast from Malif?"

"I'm a mortal, but I'm a damn good one."

"Malif. Not some petty king."

The Assassin smiled grimly. "And if I'm not good enough, I'll strike a deal with her."

Snow stepped forward, grabbing the throat of his hood and pulling their faces close.

"She's insane. She's magic. She will kill you and subdue the entire world," Snow hissed. Her fierce, blue eyes darted between his. Gauging if his fight was for Belle, or for the world. Against Malif, or against the beast.

"I will not let her use the beast," the Assassin said quietly.

Snow must have decided that he was fighting for her as well, because she let go of his hood.

The next morning, they mounted their horses and set in for another long ride. They were silent most of the morning, scanning the forest in a last-ditch attempt to find tracks that Belle may have left.

"You're certain she would have come after you?" Snow asked. The Assassin had at first hated when Snow refused to acknowledge that the beast was also Belle. But now his nerves grated under Snow referring to the two as one. It wasn't Belle that would be coming after him; that would be the beast. But if they killed it, it would be Belle that got hurt.

 _Damn_ , he thought internally. _Even I'm not sure who is who._

"No one knows the curse better than me. Centuries of sharing the same mind."

Snow looked up at him. "You might slit my throat for this, but how did you get cursed? Rumors abound, but no one actually knows."

The Assassin's eyes widened involuntarily under his hood. In hundreds of years, no one had asked. Perhaps they were terrified, perhaps they assumed he'd always been a beast. It seemed strange, in recollection, to think that no one had asked of the origin of the curse.

But he'd never, ever been forced to put the event into words.

"Someone cursed someone. I took it from them."

That was blunt. Cold. Too cold.

She'd never been cold. Not until the curse.

The Assassin found his hands shaking on the reigns. He'd managed to stifle the memories over the years, but the more the curse had to be studied the more it came back.

"Dammit," he swore aloud. "Dammit, that's not how it went. That's not how it went at all."

"Never is," Snow said. The Assassin looked back at her. "No one can tell their own story right." The former queen looked back at him with a steady gaze.

"It's not just my story," said the Assassin. "The beast ruined more lives than just mine." Not just the people he'd killed. The curse had damaged people with things far worse than death. Belle was a living testament to that. The Assassin was a living testament as well.

Snow simply nodded.

 _She knows,_ thought the Assassin. _She has her own monster that's ruined too many lives to fit into one story. There's too many rabbit-trails, too much back-tracking, too many side stories. Too much blood._

He looked back at the trail ahead.

There were unspoken words between them. Snow knew that he didn't have to share his story right away. Not until he could tell it properly. Just like Snow knew that the Assassin wouldn't abandon her or their cause, and just like she knew that he still had to save Belle.

 _There's still too much woman in that warrior_ , he thought irritably. _Next thing you know she'll be able to tell my life story to me without me ever speaking a word. Woman's intuition isn't to be trifled with._

The humorous thought was enough to put a smile back on his face. He shoved away dark thoughts and memories for another time. They had a mission to focus on. Clergy's cloth, they had a world to save. A beauty to rescue, a beast to stop.

 _We're going to be awfully busy_ , the Assassin thought.

For the first few days, it was nothing more than boring, however. Hours were spent riding, with a few moments of starlight stolen away for sleep. As they drew nearer to where the Assassin knew Malif was, the more they shifted their sleeping hours towards midday, leaving more riding time to the solitude of night.

"Now here's my plan," the Assassin said around a mouthful of apple. "I thought about sneaking in, but then Malif would kill us on the spot. Nothing can get past magic surveillance. Not even me." He sighed. He was certain that if he still had the beast, the voices would tell him Snow was rolling her eyes.

"So you want to be brazen."

"Precisely. Let her know we're coming. Have her expect us. Malif's insane, but she's wicked smart too. She'll want me, beast or no." The Assassin tossed his apple core to the ground, where it was crushed by the hooves of Snow's horse.

"She'll never let you close to the beast."

"Actually, she will," said the Assassin. "Because I'm going to win her the world. Can't do that without the gift of voices." He worked as much irony into the words as he possibly could.

"So you take the curse from the girl and then attack?"

The Assassin turned and gave Snow a look. "No, I'm going to win her the world. Didn't you hear me?"

A smile curved Snow's dark lips. "Right."

The Assassin nodded. "Heaven knows she needs it. Her terror won't keep down rebellion for long, but the beast's will. And that princess she has won't do a lick of good."

"Now the question is, how do we get an invitation to my stepmother's court?"

"Well for one thing, I have her arch-nemesis, which is a fantastic bargaining tool. For another, we're going to slaughter a lot of her guards."

Snow arched an eyebrow. "Bold."

The Assassin grinned. "Thank you."

"And if we die?"

"We won't be there to witness Malif destroy the world."

"Good enough for me."


	23. Chapter 23

I woke up in a cell.

For one blissful moment, I thought I was in the Assassin's fortress. That it had all been a crazed dream. That I would walk up the stairs to serve him the breakfast that he'd made and life would resume.

I never thought I would've been happy to wake up in that cell.

I winced as I sat up, feeling bruised and battered. I could smell blood, and my head throbbed with pain and... voices.

So many voices.

They were more bearable now than they had been before. They were simmering in my mind, but I could make out what they said. I knew I was not in the Assassin's fortress. I knew I was surrounded by hired soldiers. And I knew the huntsman was walking towards me.

The huntsman.

Jagged memories flashed before my eyes, aided by the oh-so helpful voices explaining everything. He'd dragged me out of the woods where I was put in a caged wagon, then rolled to a castle. Not my Assassin's castle. But not Tearian's, Gaston's, or Queen Snow's.

The voices informed me that Malif had taken over the White Kingdom, and that Gaston had struck a deal with her. The guards had been gossiping, their hushed murmurs never safe from the beast.

The huntsman leaned against the bars of my cell.

"Hello, princess."

I looked up, body moving stiffly. My face didn't want to move; it was crusted with dried blood.

"Everyone calls me that. I stopped being a princess long ago."

"That's now how Malif sees it," the huntsman said. "Stand up."

"Why?"

"I'm taking you somewhere. And I'm not carrying you again."

I didn't feel the urge to be carried. My fingertips felt the wall behind me as I slowly stood, stretching out each muscle at an agonizing pace.

"What does Malif want?"

"Not you, the princess, that's for certain."

I stumbled behind him, blinking away the grogginess. _Beast. She wants the beast._

"She wants me. She wants me to kill," the beast purred.

I stopped walking.

"No." My voice was a croak. I had never sounded worse, even when the clergy had been torturing me.

The huntsman stopped as well. Suddenly, I could see the bulges under his robes. The voices sprung into action, gleefully describing each ax and knife under his robes. I suddenly saw every guard in the basement and the floor above us. I could sense the huntsman serenity in the situation.

"No?" He turned.

His manner was shockingly like that of the Assassin. The huntsman was unfazed by the sheer danger in front of him. He wore his power like heavy armor; weighing him down, shielding him, yet so familiar to him that it couldn't hinder him.

"No." I leaned against the wall, bruised shoulder protesting. I closed my eyes, the voices keeping me from ever being blind. "I don't want to kill anyone."

"You're not killing anyone." The voice was quiet, nearly gentle.

"Malif only wants me to kill."

"Kill him," the beast demanded.

"She wants the beast to kill," the huntsman corrected.

"Kill him."

"We're the same now."

"Kill him!"

"We both know that isn't true."

"KILL HIM!"

I opened my eyes. "Don't make me."


	24. Chapter 24

"And why do you want to see the queen?" asked the guard, evidently shocked that anyone could ever want to see Malif. The Assassin couldn't blame him.

"I have the answer to her little... pet peeve." The Assassin gave a grim smirk from beneath the hood. If the guard hadn't puzzled it out already, he would know who the Assassin was now so long as he had more brains than the bumpkin before him.

"Please wait," said the guard stiffly before going inside, likely to inform the superior. He was tall and lanky, the ill-fitting armor creaking loudly as he abandoned his station.

With stunning speed, Snow darted into a window. The Assassin mentally traced her path, starting in the guard's armor room and ending as close to Malif as possible. The Assassin would secure the beast, and then the two would take Malif.

The Assassin had slit the throats of kings, hunted impossible monsters, slaughtered armies... but nothing this utterly idiotic.

The lanky guard returned, a stout, shaggy-headed man in tow.

The second guard pointed a thick finger at the Assassin.

"God save your souls."

"Bit late for my soul, I think," said the Assassin. "I mean, my mind and heart are already-" he made a _poof_ sound, spreading his fingers apart.

"A monster like you never had a heart," snapped the man.

A red hood. A chipped cup. Bloody and broken.

He'd had a heart once.

The Assassin flashed a cocky smile. "Then your queen and I will get off soaringly."

The two guards, whom the Assassin named Lanky and Stout, marched him into the castle. He refused to let himself think of what he had done to Stout. Kill his son? Burn his crops? Or did he blame the Assassin for Malif in general?

Refusing his own thoughts never went as planned.

They walked through enough corridors of stone that the Assassin feared Snow might never find them. They finally stopped in front of an unassumingly small door.

"Just try an' kill her," hissed Stout. "One of you'll die if you do, an' the world'll be a better place for it."

Lanky unlocked the door, and Stout pushed the Assassin inside. But the moment he crossed the threshold, he froze. It was not entirely of his own free will; magic was holding him in place. But the Assassin would have frozen in any case. Kneeling on the floor, bound by magic, was Snow.

And draped on her shoulders was a single, very bloody cloak.

The shock jolted through him then faded. He seized up the situation. He could take the guards behind him, and he knew the path through the fortress. But Malif was aware that they were here. It was likely her holding them in place.

Her that had gotten her hands on that cursed cloak.

"You," said the Assassin to Snow, his voice faltering out of his control. "Did a terrible job."

Snow, who had every right to be grief, anger and terror-stricken, only gave him a cold look.

"Malif?" the Assassin called. "You know we can't do anything to you now. Come out. We can talk."

Snow closed her eyes.

"Malif?" He said it louder.

"Curses, curses," crooned a voice. For a split second, the Assassin thought a thousand more would follow it. It was so penetrating, reverberating in his mind. When it wasn't followed up by a blood-thirsty _KILL HER_ , he rather felt like he'd missed a step going down the stairs.

"Yeah, curses," said the Assassin. His voice grew playful, urging a banter. "Like the one you've got in here somewhere. I'm awfully familiar with that curse, you know."

"You can control it," the voice said. It was definitely a woman's. Malif's, he had to assume. He watched Snow cringe at the voice, her features twisting into minuscule grimaces.

It had to be Malif.

"You couldn't," he said. "It took me nearly a century to learn how."

"Lies," Malif hissed.

The Assassin stopped, shocked at the blatant refutation.

"That's not how you banter," he scolded after a moment.

"I've studied that curse," said Malif. Her voice was almost sleepy, the words starting out sharp and ending in a drawl. Attacking you, then lingering as she savored the sound. "I've traced it back generations, watched your moves, seen how it works."

The Assassin frowned.

Generations? But there had only been him and his daughter. And how someone could have watched the Assassin's every move was beyond him; the beast covered his tracks well.

"Well, I was actually there for the whole thing. It would take years to overcome the beast's lu-"

"One day."

The words were sharp, biting into the Assassin's ears like a winter wind.

"One... day? One day what?"

"That's how long it took the princess to overpower the curse."

The Assassin's eyes grew wide beneath the hood.

"Be- that's impossible."

Malif lied. She lied to get power, lied to keep it. She'd lie to throw him off. To get what she wanted.

What did she want?

 _She wants me to assume Belle has control_ , he thought. _She wants me to assume Belle will be fine. She doesn't want me in control of the curse. She knows I could betray her._

Armed with the thought, he plunged on.

"That's impossible," he repeated. "I want proof."

He could hear the smile in her lazy voice. "Then have it."


	25. Chapter 25

The beast was raging.

All he wanted was to kill the Assassin. Or trade me in for the Assassin? The voices were a storm in my mind, leaking out into the rest of the world. I was drowning in an ocean that I could never fight.

Malif was smiling.

She wanted the Assassin to be taken by the curse. She knew he couldn't resist. She wanted them combined, the perfect killing machine. I was no more than a container, a mode of transportation for the Beast.

The Huntsman was silent.

He appeared to want nothing. He wasn't resigned, he wasn't trapped. He was like the float of a fisherman's rod, going where the waves commanded. Or like a ship, capable of leaving when he chose to.

If only he hadn't chosen to help Malif.

We were in a stone room, the walls laden with thick curtains. A fire crackled between us and the room beyond, where the Assassin and Queen Snow were frozen.

 _Then_ , I thought, _she isn't a queen now anymore than I was a princess._

"What do you want with them?" I asked, voice little more than a croak. The voices were screaming the answers at me even as I asked, but I couldn't string them into coherent thoughts.

"I want him to know who he is," said Malif. She reveled in the enigmatic, it seemed.

She didn't look the part of an evil sorceress. She was sleight and pale, with a round, almost childlike face. The only part of her that seemed to fit were the eyes; they were sharp and dark, glittering with cleverness even beyond the abilities of magic. Or so it appeared at first glance. I came to realize it was the glint of madness. It so resembled the Assassin's eyes, and perhaps even mine now.

The Huntsman looked at the queen. "You cannot hold them in place forever," he said, voice just louder than that of the Assassin's as he continued to attempt banters with Malif. But the queen had now fallen silent, only watching them through the heat-warped vision provided by the fireplace.

"I will give him his proof," she murmured. "I only wonder if, after so many centuries, he can even remember."

 _Remember what?_ I asked of the voices. They chattered nervously, soft and layered so that I could not make out an answer. _Rider_ was all that I could make out.

After a few moments more, Malif stood. She walked past the Huntsman he held an axe and past me as I lay, huddled, on the cold stone floor. She came to a stop in front of the fireplace. The flames stretched towards her, and she stood so close that I almost thought she would catch fire. Sadly, such fortune as not with me.

"Once upon a time," said Malif, voice resonating through both rooms. "There was a little girl."

The Assassin's voice fell silent, and with its loss the voices surged back into being.

"This little girl wasn't supposed to live. She was oh-so-very ill, wasn't she, Assassin? You would know. You were there."

The voices vanished as he spoke up.

"How do you know this? No one could know this."

"Except for her, and her, and _you_ ," said Malif. "And anyone she told."

"She _died_ ," said the Assassin. His voice was like a rock, crumbling under pressure, giving way to a heavy weight.

"Surprise," said Malif softly. "You succeeded."

There was silence, which meant that for me there was a chorus.

"She wouldn't still be alive. It's been hundreds... hundreds of years."

"She is alive in memory and in lore. She is alive in blood-line." Malif waved her hand. The fireplace extinguished, and the mantelpiece raised up into the wall. Through the doorway, I could now clearly see the Assassin and Snow. "My bloodline. My legends, my quest. Passed down after all those centuries. Instructed by Riding to follow that red hood. Find the source. End the curse that destroyed her life."

Malif stepped through the doorway. "Save her father," she ended.

I was so confused, and with every word Malif said, the more and more insistently the voices tried to rectify my confusion, which only added to the problem. But I could see that the Assassin understood every word. I could feel it.

"That would make you... what? My daughter plus fifteen greats?" asked the Assassin. He was trying to revert to banter. Lighthearted discussion was easier than facing his beasts of centuries past.

Malif smiled, or so some of the voices told me. She walked past Snow, who was still kneeling, covered in the cloak that I could now see was not dyed red, but stained red. Red with the blood of men long dead.

They weren't the clothing of a little boy in that chest, but of a little girl. The Assassin's little girl. The holder of the curse. He had taken it from her.

He had loved her that much, just as I had loved him. And again, my heart broke for this cursed man.

But knowing that did nothing to amend the situation. Snow and the Assassin were still frozen, Malif still powerful. I was being watched by-

No.

Where was the Huntsman?

"Hiding moving plot twist Malif's doom waiting patience axe blood KILL THEM-"

"What do you want with me? With Snow? With... with Belle?"

"Snow was an unexpected surprise. Hello, dear." Malif drifted her fingertips along Snow's black hair. "Belle currently holds the curse for which I've searched my entire life. I even tried _recruiting_ you, as the other kingdoms did. But you neglected my invitations."

"I'm not in the habit of killing women and children," said the Assassin, his teeth clenched.

Malif's lips stretched in a smile. "I have ancestors who just _beg_ to differ."

I had changed my mind; Malif most certainly looked the part of an evil queen.

A voice. One different from all the others. It was slightly more tangible\, a whisper instead of a roar. And it left hot breath on my ear.

"Malif cannot take the curse unless the Assassin has it," said the Huntsman. "Do not allow the Assassin to even touch you. If she takes it from him, the world will fall."

"Do I run?" The voice- my voice -pronounced the words. They sounded so cowardly, and yet it took every ounce of my courage to say them.

"She will stop you. Stay perfectly still. If we all die in these rooms, stay still. I know you have the courage."

"Why did you take me?" Why, if he could ever be against Malif, would he bring the curse right into her own castle?

"There will be time for answers when this is done."

"What will you do?" I asked, frantic to know why I was remaining still.

"Malif cannot hold her spells for long. When it falters, we will have seconds to strike."

More questions came to mind, ones that even the voices couldn't answer, could I interpret them. But I knew that if I asked, there would be no warm voice to answer. The Huntsman had left, taking my every hope with him.

 _The Warrior, the Huntsman and the Assassin_ , I thought. _Yet can even they stand a chance against the Queen?_

"Fallen!" chorused the voices.

Then I saw everything.

Snow threw off the bloody cloak, drawing a sword. The Assassin lunged forward with knives. The Huntsman came, axe swinging, out of a doorway.

The Queen had magic at her fingertips, abilities I didn't even know. But her enemy now was not weakness; it was shock.

And ours was humanity.

Snow faltered, perhaps unable to bring herself to slaughter her step-mother. The Huntsman, the greater threat, was where the Queen was just able to focus her attention. And the Assassin...

The Assassin found me.

"Something's wrong he thinks he senses he knows somethi-"

He sidestepped the other three, lunging towards me instead. I cried out something unintelligible as his fingers, those massive hands, closed around my shoulders. He looked into my eyes, hood having fallen back.

"You're in control," he said. I knew he couldn't hear his own voice over the others. He could never, ever have those again. Not permanently, and _not_ now.

"No, please, stop Mali-"

"I can," he said.

And he kissed me.

Tears stung my eyelids and I tried to jerk away, but I knew it was gone. I could hear the voices even as he touched me. And both the Beast and Malif were in ecstasy.

"Yes!" screamed the queen, a blast of frost sending a pillar of ice growing- sharp end first- through the Huntsman's stomach. Snow lunged at the queen, who turned her attention back to the battle.

The Assassin tore away from me, armed with a million entities and his battle-trained body. Snow and Malif looked at him. I snatched at his hand. The voices filled my head, each screaming. One bloody, loud voice storming above all the rest.

Then they all fell away, save for a bloody scream continuing.

And someone stumbled away from the Assassin.

And Malif's voice had replaced the beast's.

And Snow, guided by a beast cursed with a single purpose, drove her sword into the Queen's chest.


	26. Chapter 26

"This is a worse mess than the first time I was brought here to clean," Belle said.

The Assassin looked around at the mess.

"It's... not the cleanest it's ever been."

"It looks like a lion with a temper was let loose," she said, stooping to gather the remnants of the curtains she'd once stitched together so patiently.

"That isn't too far from the truth," the Assassin murmured.

"What was that?" Belle looked up, arms full of scarlet scraps.

The Assassin flashed a smile. "You must've been hearing voices again, Beauty."

She grew thoughtful looking. "I do still hear them at times. Only when falling asleep or waking. And certain items." She set the cloth on the table and walked to the other side of the room where the chipped cup sat on the pedestal.

The Assassin was shocked. "You still hear them..."

"Usually it's more of a... a sense. Not true voices. Just sensation and feelings. I might be able to tell where someone is, or... you can't? But you had that curse for centuries!"

"And it took me nearly a century to control, whereas you were able to master it right away." The Assassin was slightly disgruntled. She was even better at being cursed than him.

"Just one question," asked Belle, setting down the cup and continuing to clean up scraps of cloth and shards of dishes.

"Yes?"

"Do I still have to sleep in that cell?" She looked at him innocently, a smile in her voice. That beautiful, beautiful voice.

The Assassin set down his mangled chair and crossed the room to take her by the waist, pull her to her toes, then kiss her. A gentle kiss.

"I think," he said. "Beauty has lost her brains again."

She kissed him back. A firm kiss.

"I think you owe me a bedroom."

"Oh, I owe you far more than that."

Laughter rang once again in the fortress. Once a prison, now a home. Just as she told Peter in her letter.

 _Dear Peter,_

 _It's now been over a year since the diplomatic trip gone awry. I know you and father have been frightened not just for me, but for the entire world. The events I set in motion nearly allowed Malif to destroy everything. But no doubt you were concerned for me as well since hearing off my "going Beast" as the villagers are fond of saying. But I'm certain you also heard of Malif's defeat by way of a Huntsman, an Assassin, and a Warrior Queen. And, of course, the Beast._

 _Truth be told, there is little left for me to tell you that you and my father would not have heard by way of gossip. What you do not know is my voice in all of this._

 _I'll start by saying that I am safe and well. I am married now as well, which I'm sure you, Peter, would have known. As I'm officially not sound of mind, I suppose that I'm unfit for the throne. It matters little; Gaston is a good king, if not the best person. He will be better able to repair the damage father and Malif have done than I could. (Don't tell Father that part when relaying this message to him!)_

 _I recall you asking me if I could ever be happy returning to this prison. But it is now a home. Things are far from perfect. But knowing life, I doubt it ever will be. Everything is the same, and yet everything has changed._

 _My beast's past is no longer a mystery, though it was every bit as terrible for him as I had feared it had been._

 _Our present is no longer cursed; that burden was taken from us by someone we trust, and someone who loves us (well, one of us) very much._

 _And our future has more beauty than ever before._

 _All the love in the world,_

 _Belle and her Beast_


	27. Chapter 27

**The rough draft of** ** _Beast_** **is complete! So what next?**

 **1\. I really hope y'all will leave a review! Those are life-giving for authors, even if all you can say is "I loved it" or "Paragraph 3 sucks". It encourages us or improves us.**

 **2\. Let it rest.** ** _Beast_** **is a rough draft, and REALLY needs serious rewriting and editing. So as it sits through the month of November, I will be doing NaNoWriMo with...**

 **3\. Sequel!** ** _Snow_** **will be** ** _Beast_** **'s sister, following what the heck is going to happen to our favorite Soldier Queen while she's under the curse.**

 **4\. Publication? I'm so uncertain about this. First of all,** ** _Beast_** **sucks right now. Second of all, fairy tell retellings are the thing yesterday. And the market is saturated. I really don't know if Beast will leave the interwebs, or if I should deny my personal creed and commit to e-selling. You can always leave an opinion in a review! Shameless review fishing.**

 **5\. Thank you all for reading** ** _Beast_** **! Your favorites, reviews, and just sitting there absorbing the words I slaved over means the world. Thank you so much.**


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